


Oh Angel

by 8LunaFortuna8



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Blood, Blood Kink, Character Death, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heaven & Hell, Light Bondage, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Smut, rip your fucking heart out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 31,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19219216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8LunaFortuna8/pseuds/8LunaFortuna8
Summary: It's been a month since the Apocolypse almost happened and Aziraphale has been having dreams. Dreams that involve Crowley that he can't stop. Meanwhile, Crowley is dealing with issues of his own. But just as our favorite ineffable babes begin to figure out their feelings (only took 6000 years guys, thanks) someone else interferes and Aziraphale loses his memory and a bit more. Can true love conquer all? Can Aziraphale remember who he was and what Crowley meant to him?  Or will Crowley be forced to let him go?





	1. Bad(?) Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Oh Angel 喔 天使](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308829) by [papesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/papesse/pseuds/papesse)



> I'm sorry I have so many chapters and they're all so goddamn short, I just like the division. Don't panic!

Aziraphale woke with such a start that he almost fell right out of his favorite chair.

_No, no, no, not again!_

The angel squeezed his eyes shut as though he could banish the assault of images he’d just witnessed. Angels never had to sleep; God had been kind enough to leave them without that design flaw. Aziraphale had never owned a bed in his life, even during the early times when such a thing would look extremely suspicious. However, on some days when the rain was falling and Az was curled up with one of his favorite first editions and some hot cocoa, he would succumb to the soothing existence that is sleep.

Anytime he’d fallen asleep the last few months had been anything but restful or soothing. He’d been taking more and more naps since the Almost-pocalypse; the angel assumed he’d suffered the stress of a lifetime (an angelic lifetime, that is) and his body just needed time to recover, no matter how ineffable angels were. It wasn’t so much the sleep he dreaded as much as the dreams. For example, only a moment ago, he’d been dreaming that it was still the apocalypse. In fact, Crowley had been there. Crowley was always there in these dreams. The pair had been walking down a sunny hallway at the old convent, searching for Adam Young’s birth records. This bit had actually happened- in fact about half the dream was just memory of that day. Arriving at the grounds of the ex-hospital, getting hit by a paintball (that Crowley blessedly miracled away for him) and speaking to Sister Loquacious.

In the dream, however, Sister Loquacious had not made an appearance. Aziraphale had just made a comment about how nice Crowley was being and the demon in question had ruthlessly pinned him against the wall, just as it had happened in real life. That was where the dream had departed from reality. Aziraphale could still feel Crowley’s mouth on his, the demons’ hands wandering over his frame, testing…

“Stop it!” Az stammered aloud as though it would help anything. It didn’t help, and he knew that it wouldn’t, because he had tried nearly everything to deal with this particular issue. He liked being able to nap in his chair; it was one of his favorite pleasures like sushi or baths.

It had been just under a month since Adam had send Az and Crowley back to where they belonged, bookshop and Bentley intact. Except for this time the pair didn’t have any orders to follow. No miracles to perform, no blessings to do-- or, alternatively, no tempting or trouble-making. And a month seemed like a much longer time when you’re avoiding your best friend the whole time. Aziraphale considered the many possible explanations for Crowley’s recent (and unusual) behavior.

The demon had been dropping by the shop almost idly and calling once or twice a week to see if Aziraphale wanted to go for lunch or go on a day trip somewhere. It almost seemed as though Crowley didn’t know quite what to do with himself. The two of them had gone centuries without speaking to each other at all and now things were almost too close for comfort. Az always had an excuse though-- he had to take inventory since Adam’s “edits”. He had to restore a book for a client. He wasn’t in the mood for food (one of his worst excuses yet). Every excuse brought compounded anxiety that Crowley would notice how many lies he was working his way through, especially since-

_He’s a demon, after all._

Aziraphale swallowed the nasty thought bitterly and reseated himself in his chair, taking a sip of his (now cold) cocoa. Whatever the case, Az dreaded seeing the only person he wanted to be around for the rest of time. The problem wasn’t really that they were bad dreams, because they didn’t scare or disgust Aziraphale-- and that’s what made them bad. It’s not that Az had anything against… well, sex… it’s just that when you dream of your best friend-

Aziraphale stood up and cursed, and then clapped a hand to his mouth. He really was becoming quite the potty mouth. He grabbed his mug of expired cocoa from the side table, careful around his precious books, and walked it to the back of the shop and up the spiral staircase that led to his living quarters. “Living quarters” was a very ambiguous term for the rooms situated above his shop. What was intended by the architect (who Aziraphale had had many a quarrel with) to be the bedroom was Aziraphale’s workshop. It was where he kept his oldest, most delicate, and most favorite editions, including his scrolls from the library of Alexandria (he’d only managed to snag 6 of the 8 on left on Earth, but Mr. Sutherland was close to death, the old codger), his copy of Oliver Twist (whose inscription reads “To my dearest Aziraphale, without whom I may never have picked up a quill (or a bottle)”) and his most treasured harlequin romance novels.

But that room is not where Aziraphale went, for he had a strict no-food-or-beverage policy in his workshop. At the top of the staircase, the angel veered left, past a small bathroom (angels may not really sleep but they do, on occasion, enjoy bubble baths) and into the small kitchen in the back corner of the building. Angels may not require food, but that had never stopped Aziraphale from from cooking. He didn’t own any fancy food processors, blenders or even can openers (“Canned food was a delightfully helpful innovation and a success on Heaven’s part but you should stick with fresh alternatives if you can” is his official stance on it). Despite being a bit behind on the times, Aziraphale always seemed to have just what he needed.

He tipped the cocoa into the sink and rinsed out the mug. He could have just miracled it warm again but he just wasn’t in the mood for it anymore. Besides, “home office” had been watching ever more closely since the apocalypse and his friendship with Crowley had been revealed, not to mention their little face switcheroo. Aziraphale turned the mug over in his hands. It was one of a set; they were a soft cozy off-white and the handles had been sculpted into angel’s wings. They had been a gift from Crowley back in the early 16th century-- Michelangelo always did prefer sculpture to painting anyway. It gave him a lovely break from that damned ceiling he was always prattling on about.

There was a small, secret third reason Aziraphale was abandoning the perfectly drinkable cocoa. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to look at that mug without worrying himself into discorporation. A knock at the door startled him and he banged the mug against the side of the basin in surprise, chipping the handle. Az hooted in distress and without a second thought, miracled it back together, setting it down gently.

He may have worried that it was Crowley himself, hellbent on showing up at precisely the wrong moment as per usual, but Aziraphale had been expecting a collector by to purchase one of his beloved books. That was why he’d been camped out in his armchair all morning, poring over it fondly before he couldn’t anymore. It was an old pressing of Treasure Island and one of the most valuable in his collection. Aziraphale rushed off to answer the door, leaving the mug in basin.

 

X

Meanwhile, across London, Crowley was watching The Purge as a cover for what he was really doing-- puzzling over why Aziraphale had been avoiding him. His logic was that if he actually stopped to think about it, that would meant he actually _cared_ and that was simply impossible. All morning a small, mean voice in the back of his head whispered that it was because of the Almost-pocolypse and how “fraternizing” with a demon had gotten him disbarred from Heaven. Of course such a thing hadn’t seemed to bother Az at first but Crowley had had a sneaking suspicion it would come back to haunt him. In the moment he’d felt safe enough with Crowley by his side to be almost happy about the departure from the feathered fucks but the demon worried that once he was by himself for long enough, he’d remember what he was giving up.

Aziraphale was the most angelic angel Crowley knew and for someone like that to be completely locked out of Heaven…

 _No!_  
“We’re best friends,” he mused aloud. Aziraphale wouldn’t feel that way, not after this long. He wouldn’t-- he couldn’t. After all he’d given up even before spiting Heaven…

Crowley snapped and the television set shut off abruptly. Since the pair of them had been disconnected from their respective homes, he had extended invitation after invitation to Az to meet for lunch or travel the world or whatever the angel desired, but he’d been turned down cold every time. Something had changed in Crowley the day he thought Aziraphale had died. Maybe it was the shot of cold water from the fire hose or the heat from the fire itself… whatever the case, when Crowley couldn’t sense his angel anymore, he realize how much time he’d wasted that he could have been spending with the one person who made him truly happy. The only being, celestial or terrestrial, that made him feel… like he was worth having around for something other than wielding Hell’s will.

Crowley shook the sappy thought out of his head irritably. He was a demon, for Go- for Sa- for fucks sake, he shouldn’t feel this way about anything or anyone, especially not an angel. He’d gotten adjusted to the idea that he was not what was considered an average demon (and he would disintegrate anyone who implied such an idea) but still, even this was a bit much. Even as often as he checked in on Aziraphale, he still had to pull back from calling more often.

 _You called yesterday and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to see you_ , that nasty little voice in his head hissed.

At first when the Apocalypse was averted and they’d all gotten off scot-free, Crowley had done some heavy celebrating. He drank like The End was still hanging over their heads and went out every night looking for more trouble to get into, but it was never as much fun without his goody two shoes angel by his side. He’d even, Satan forbid, tried the “book thing” but he only ever got a page or two in before he’d become willfully distracted by something else. Maybe he just wasn’t reading the right books. Aziraphale knew all about them, maybe if he just-

_No!_  
_NO. He doesn’t want to see me, for whatever reason._

Crowley decided then that it would be best to start drinking as much as he could as quickly as he could.


	2. Are You Drunk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: umm, wowee, thanks for all the pleasant comments and kudos! I was actually having a terrible ass day and ya'll made it so much better. Bless y'all. I hope you guys like where this is going because I'm pretty much just winging it (lmoa terrible pun)

“Goodbye, thank you!” Aziraphale said as cheerfully as he could muster. He really loved his books too much, and saying goodbye to them was so damned hard.

Even as much as he hated saying goodbye to the book, he was already starting to feel a bit lonely without the customer’s company. It was a weekday and between his shop being a bit niche and his hours utterly ridiculous (at least to humans-- he didn’t see anything wrong with them) there probably wouldn’t be anyone else in today. Aziraphale wrung his hands tightly.

 

_Should he? Or shouldn’t he?_

After a moment, he decided what he was going to do and started locking locks and shutting shutters.

 

X

 

After an hour and a half in a taxi on the M25 (Aziraphale had the cabbie take the long way round as a sort of test for himself-- could he be around things that reminded him of Crowley without issue? The answer turned out to be a shaky “yes”) Az arrived at Crowley’s flat on the other end of London and was more than a little delighted to spy the demon’s beloved Bentley parked out front and gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun.

Aziraphale could hear loud music pouring out of the modern looking building, which was normal-- Crowley _did_ love his music. But it wasn’t Queen or the Beatles or anyone Crowley normally listened to. Was that- No, surely not. It couldn’t be. After a quick breath to steady himself, Az climbed the stairs all the way to the top and stopped at the last door on the right. The angel had never visited Crowley at his flat before (although he’d know the location for a very long time) but Crowley was always popping into his shop so why he shouldn’t he return the favor? It had always been more dangerous for Crowley to be seen with Aziraphale instead of the other way around-- the angels were more likely to reprimand or sternly chastise but demons…

Az frowned in confusion and put an ear to the door. He had been right, that was _indeed_ Taylor Swift’s voice echoing through the stairwell and the parking lot below. The angel knocked tenatively, almost afraid of what he’d find on the other side of the door if _Crowley_ was listening to _pop music._ The music stopped so abruptly that Aziraphale was afraid that Crowley had known he was there before he knocked. The door swung open quickly.

Crowley stood there, draped against the door the way he always did, but-

“Are you drunk?” Aziraphale said, eyes widening a little.

“No!” Crowley said too loudly. He was doing a very bad job of concealing the half-empty bottle of whiskey behind his back. Az thought better than to mention the Taylor Swift; the demon in front of him looked incredibly disheveled and his sunglasses looked different. Aziraphale placed them after a moment; Crowley had gotten them back in the early 18th century.

 

“I’m not interrupting anything, are I? You don’t have… company?” Az peeked around him cautiously before looking back up into the dark lenses of the glasses. Crowley looked at him squintily as though he’d just suggested that the demon was hosting a book club. “And why are you wearing those old things?” Aziraphale added.

After another moment of Crowley looking at him thoughtfully, he stepped aside and waved the angel inside with the bottle. Aziraphale stepped inside and glanced around. It looked just as he’d imagined it; sleek and dark and modern with minimal decoration or furniture. The most interesting thing to see was the two dark black containers set in the center of the front room, open and spilling their contents-- centuries worth of dark sunglasses in nearly every style and fashion imaginable.

 

“Thought I could use a new look,” Crowley finally replied, following Aziraphale back into the flat and taking a swig from his bottle.

 

“Why would you think that?” Az said, standing awkwardly on the edge of the room with his hands folded. When he looked back at his best friend, there was some unfamiliar emotion in his eyes but it only lasted a moment before Crowley crossed the room and seated himself back in the floor, leaning against the bottom of the couch to pick through the bins of shades. “Anyway, there’s nothing terribly important going on at the shop today, so I thought maybe we could have lunch? But we don’t have to, of course. I just thought that since you’re always coming to the shop to see if I want to go out to lunch maybe I’d pop in…,” Aziraphale trailed off. He always rambled when he was nervous; hopefully Crowley couldn’t tell (he could).

Crowley reached over to a small black ottoman that sat beside him and popped off the top of it, revealing a hidden compartment of different bottled liquor. He fished out a bottle and held it out to Aziraphale, saying, “Drink with me?”

Az stepped forward and took a seat on the couch to Crowley’s left, taking the bottle. When he saw the label, he let out a small gasp of delight. “Is this-”

 

“It is.”

“How ever did you- I mean, why do you have it?”

Crowley took another sip of his whiskey and looked back at Aziraphale innocently. “I bought a few bottles when you got so attached to it way back when. I’ve had them since- well, a long time. In case you ever… dropped by,” he replied as steadily as he could.

 

Aziraphale held the bottle of Châteauneuf-de-Pape closely as his stomach twisted unpleasantly. He tried his best to ignore it; something was obviously going on with Crowley and dreams or no dreams, he had to be here for his friend. “I do appreciate everything Adam has done for us,” Az began, “but when I didn’t get any of my wine and liquor stores back. I suppose it shouldn’t be something that’s on his mind, I just-- I thought I’d never see this again.”

A quiet moment passed before Aziraphale used a nifty little trick he’d picked up in the 15th century (after the disaster that was the 14th, he and Crowley had spent quite a few years drinking) and popped the cork straight out of the bottle, taking a carefully measured sip and letting out a little groan of pleasure as it passed his lips.

Aziraphale noticed Crowley twitch a little when he made that noise but neither of them mentioned it. He almost felt more at ease with Crowley being drunk like this; it meant that even if he did say something awkward or do something wrong, there was a small chance Crowley wouldn’t remember it after today. From what he could guess, he hadn’t seen the demon this wasted since post-Rein of Terror.

At the very least, the bottle of wine would help him along. Getting drunk with his best friend seemed like a perfectly good way to spend an afternoon, especially with how stressed he’d been lately. If he could prove to himself that his dreams were just dreams, then maybe-

 

His thought ended only halfway formed as Crowley tipped towards him and leaned against Aziraphale’s leg. Waves of warmth and goosebumps shot up his leg at the contact and Az tried to hide his sharp intake of breath. Now all he had to do was make conversation without stammering.

“You know, Crowley, you really don’t _need_ a new look. I quite like those sunglasses of yours, they really do suit you,” Aziraphale said, white knuckling the Châteauneuf-de-Pape.

 

“You really think so?” Crowley said, taking smaller sips of his nearly empty bottle now.

“I do!” Aziraphale said genuinely, scooting out from under Crowley’s shoulder and hopping to his feet lightly. Setting his wine on the nearby coffee table, Az sank down to his knees beside Crowley and started shuffling through the endless pile of black metal, plastic, and glass.

 

“Out of style, no good, _never_ in style- Crowley, what the _hell_ are these?” Aziraphale held up a pair of dark glasses that were obscenely large and reminiscent of a bug’s eyes.

“Elton pulled them off,” Crowley pouted. Az put them down and looked at him softly.

“Crowley what is all this about? Coming to see me two or three times a week, changing your sunglasses again? Is something the matter, dear boy?” Aziraphale said, trying to read the demon’s expression behind the glasses. Crowley looked up at Az as though he were seeing him for the first time today, _really_ seeing him and again, there was some unrecognizable look in his eyes that Az didn’t get a chance to figure out before it was gone again.

 

“I’m fine. I’ve just… been a little lost without the apocalypse. Sure, I could still spread Hellish influence everywhere, but it’s almost like… there’s no point anymore,” he said, setting down the sticky bottle in resignation.

“Well, how about we go to lunch? Perhaps a picnic?” Aziraphale suggested, hoping food would settle his stomach. “Maybe you’ll feel better after some food.” But Crowley was already shaking his head.

 

“No, angel, I’m-- sorry. I don’t really feel like going out today.”

“Then we can stay in,” Aziraphale said without missing a beat, “Drink the day away.”

 

Crowley rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “You’d do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just… stay in with me?” he looked almost bewildered. Aziraphale frowned again and blinked at him.

 

“Of course I would. You’re my best friend, and I’ve neglected you for too long.” Crowley shrugged but it wasn’t in reply to the angel; it was to try and shake off the pleasant chill that had run up his spine at the angel’s words. Crowley did the only thing he could and nodded.

 

“Okay, angel.”


	3. He Loves Me... He Loves Me Not

Aziraphale returned to the bookshop very late and very drunk. He tipped the cabbie 50 pounds and even though he was usually very generous with his tips, that was a bit much even for him. He could have sobered up before he left Crowley’s, but he liked feeling this way for right now. Crowley had offered up his couch to be at Az’s disposal until he’d gotten the alcohol out of his system naturally, but that angel had politely declined.

 

It took him a few tries but he finally got the key to turn in the lock.

_What a human_ _problem_ _, to have trouble unlocking the door while being drunk._

 

Once Aziraphale had been properly drinking for a while, he didn’t worry any more about the dreams and-- it was so nice to be there. To just be there with… with his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less, no complicated little _human_ emotions making him wonder if they should be more.

 

Slogging his way up the stairs and wondering if he shouldn’t have sobered up after all, he stumbled towards the grand bathroom off to the left and turned on the spigot of the 100 year old claw foot tub. He’d gotten it from Paris brand new and had had it redone several times as a century will do things to porcelain. A few minutes later, he was settled in the tub, sprawled in the hot water and wings stretched out, the tips of them brushing the tiled floor. Drinking always made him feel quite in need of bathing and the warm water was soothing his spinning head.

 

Despite only drawing a bath to relax after a long day, Aziraphale had failed to realize that that was actually his best thinking place. While in the bath, he’d thought up a solution to foil World War III back in the 80’s, developed solar power, and wrote _Cats_. So naturally, as he sank into the hot water and breathed a sigh of content, he began to think.

 

Why was he having dreams (of… that) about Crowley? They had been friends 6,000 years, so a sex dream or two was inevitable. But no, it wasn’t like _that._ Not something to simply be blamed on the subconscious and moved away from because it kept _happening._ This was some other beast entirely. Because when Aziraphale had woken up, right before he’d realized exactly what he’d been dreaming about, he’d felt… oh, what was that word?

“Content”? No, it was more zealous than that, with more feeling. “Happy” was too vague but getting closer. “Overjoyed” was the closest word Az could think of to the emotion he wanted to express. Emotions were hard.

 

_But that can’t be right. It can’t! I shouldn’t feel that way-- I couldn’t!_

However Aziraphale had done a great many things he shouldn’t have. He’d befriended Crowley back in the day and made the Arrangement. He’d cavorted with a demon for thousands of years. He’d defied home office and put an end to the apocalypse without a drop of blood spilled. And those had all turned out to be good things.

 

 _Do I-- am-- am I in love-- with_ Crowley?!

Aziraphale hugged his arms around him and bit his lip. He had a lot to think about.

 

X

 

Aziraphale thought so long and so hard that night, he decided to conjure up a little cot to nap on just so he could _stop_ thinking. While in the bath, he’d come to two conclusions:

 

1) He loved Crowley. Not quite the way he thought he had, as a comrade or a brother, but as someone he wanted romantically. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but he knew that his feelings had gotten much stronger when Crowley had saved his books of prophecy in the church bombing in 1941. He wanted to be more than friends with the demon more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

And 2) He could never have that with Crowley because there was no way that he would ever feel the same way. Crowley, for one thing, was a demon. Aziraphale knew that there were a lot of things that set Crowley apart from other demons, but was he even capable of feeling love that way? Lust, sure, but true, pure love the way humans felt it? Az had been _built_ to love and Crowley had given that up long ago.

 

Besides, there were other things to consider. Even if (and this is an earth shattering ineffable “if”) Crowley _could_ love, even if he could feel that emotion in his demonic heart, would he love Aziraphale? The angel felt the answer was most certainly not. Even if the two weren’t complete opposites, they had been friends so long that it may be impossible for Crowley to see him in that way.

 

 _No, certainly not_.

Crowley would not (and probably could not) feel the same way. Aziraphale, as he drifted off to sleep, wished desperately for another bottle of wine or that single malt that he liked only on very special occasions. Thanks to what alcohol he had already consumed, he fell to sleep quite easily and slept the whole night through, getting more sleep than he’d had his whole life combined.


	4. I Want to Be Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya  
> I haven't been writing as fervently the past day or two but I'm trying to keep this shit up :) because it makes me happy (as well as you guys)  
> but I'm trying to take my time and get There (TM) at the right pace. REST ASSURED this story WILL have smut dammit if it's the last thing I do. We just gotta get there first. 
> 
> Also this is a short one and it's very very straight up filler but it's needed *dammit*

Crowley, on the other hand, had always had a bed. His first one had been made of straw but no his mattress was top of the line. 95% of the time it remained neatly made up, unused. Demons indulge in sleep every once in a while but most of the time they’d much rather be awake and grinning evilly at you, causing trouble. Crowley enjoyed sleep the way Aziraphale enjoyed sushi. Maybe he didn’t let temptation overcome him nearly as much as Az did (naughty angel) but his feelings about it remained the same.

And so, tonight, drunk and sad and post-Aziraphale visit, he climbed under the silk sheets and passed out. When he woke up the next morning, he remembered why he didn’t sleep much. He woke up blissfully half-dreaming that Aziraphale was laying in the bed next to him, but when he opened his eyes properly no one was there. He was always disappointed to awaken alone – disappointed but not surprised.

 

After all, he _was_ a demon. He’d never even slept with anyone, contrary to the answer he gave anyone from Hell who asked. Demons weren’t supposed to _love_ , no matter how much of an outcast he was, even from demonic siblings. He’d kept his feelings for Aziraphale a secret these 6,000 years (because he had indeed had feelings that first day when they met at Eden). And even though he felt wrong, like a demonic abomination, not even accepted as a Fallen One, who _wouldn’t_ be in love with Aziraphale?

Aziraphale, fair haired and blue eyed with his silly little quirks and hedonistic habits? An angel by any name but not _really_ one of them, never _really_ one of them. Crowley had never really realized how much that was true until he’d taken Az’s place in Heaven to face the hellfire. To Crowley’s surprise, Heaven wasn’t at all what he remembered it-- even at the times he was most bitter about his fall, it had all been sparkling memories of warmth and beauty and pure bliss. But now that he’d gone back for the first time in 6,000 years, he realized the truth-- it was Hell with a better view. And the way they’d treated Az… well, it had been Crowley underneath, but the point was they _thought_ it was Aziraphale and it was how they would've treated the real him.

It made Crowley burn inside to think he’d been _talked to_ like that, treated like that, for over 6,000 years. Poor, soft, sweet, Aziraphale, who only deserved-

 

_No! Stop IT._

 

Crowley grimaced. If he let himself think too much about what he felt for Aziraphale, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He’d gotten all twisted up in his own head about it a long time ago, not long after that Jesus chap had died, and let’s just say they don’t call the dark ages that for nothing.

Crowley laid in bed a while after waking, trying to decide what he was going to do. Drinking was preferable but completely out of the question-- he couldn’t afford to be that emotionally belligerent if Aziraphale were to turn up like that again. He could go out for a drive in the Bentley, cause some trouble and general havoc… but he didn’t _want_ to do that. He had never really meant to leave Heaven the way he did, nor had he ever meant to be “evil”; it had just sort of happened that way.

Maybe… maybe he could be good. Not _angelic_ per se but more like a human. Both good and bad. Normal.

 

Crowley would never admit it to himself and certainly not to anyone else but he wanted to be good for Aziraphale. For his angel, who was so good despite the sickness that was Heaven. He had never been a product of Heaven and Crowley knew now that he never could have been; Az was kind because that’s who he was. And just maybe Crowley could try to be like him for a while.

 

X

 

Aziraphale may not have felt the need to banish the drunkenness the night before, but he _did_ feel the need to rid himself of the massive hangover as soon as he woke up the next morning. He thought for a moment about calling and checking in on Crowley but quickly decided against it; Crowley was never silent about it when he wanted to be around. Besides, he may still be asleep.

 

Aziraphale opened the shop a little earlier than usual and when no one came rushing in immediately, he disappeared upstairs to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The headache may have been gone but Aziraphale still felt a little ragged. He was just coming down the stairs when he spotted a figure reaching for one of his more expensive tomes. “Er, excuse me, please don’t touch that! It’s very delicate and-- Crowley!” Az hooted in surprise, for the figure was, in fact, his best friend.

Crowley was dressed a little more nicely than usual, and for once in his existence he wasn’t slouching (that was part of the reason Az hadn’t recognized him at first) and--

“Have you combed your hair?” Aziraphale sputtered.

“No,” Crowley bit but he seemed to shrink a little, “And hello to you too, angel.”

 

Aziraphale did everything in his divine power to suppress showing the tremor that ran down his spine at the sound of the nickname. It sounded… _different…_ now, now that-- ah, well. Aziraphale hadn’t exactly figured out his feelings quite yet and he-- no, no, he couldn’t tell Crowley about any of that. He wouldn’t, even if he _did_ know how to tell the demon how exactly he felt, it would only weird him out or make him feel bad for not feeling the same way. Or-- Crowley wouldn’t… _tease_ him? No, no-- it didn’t matter anyway.

Aziraphale shook off the unusual sensation and said, “How are you feeling? Would you like some tea? I’ve just made a cup-”

“No thanks, angel-- you always drink it too sweet for me.” Something was very different about Crowley. It was almost as though he were putting _effort_ into his appearance as opposed to his usual throwing on clothes and finger combing his hair. And there was that nickname again!

 

Wait, wait-- did he… _know?_

No, not possible.

But could he?

 

Aziraphale had had feelings for Crowley for God knows how long and he was never able to hide anything else from Crowley-- did that also apply to things Az didn’t know he knew? The angel shook his head vaguely, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts, because if he really considered it, he may start to panic because it was quite possible. There _were_ a lot of things Crowley knew that Aziraphale didn’t and vice versa-- but would Crowley lead him on like that? For 6,000 years?

“Uh, hmm. What are your plans for the day?” Az said, taking a sip of his tea to hide his mouth.

 

Crowley, on the other hand, was using Aziraphale’s books to hide. Instead of looking him in the face and risking revealing something, he kept his eyes on the blasted things, things he would never have much interest in and surely never actually read. But if it meant he didn’t have to look at Az…

“Erm, I haven’t really decided yet. Say-- when you’re not running the bookshop… or reading, or eating, what do you, uh, _do_?” Crowley finally looked round at Az.

 

“Well, I usually do story time at the library on Thursdays! Hmph, but today isn’t Thursday… What do you mean by ‘what I do’? What are you asking me, Crowley?” Aziraphale replied.

“Nothing, nothing, just curious, angel.” All this managed to do was make Aziraphale frown.

“You’re acting awfully strange-- you’re sure you’re all right? I haven’t seen you drink that much since-

 

“Really, Aziraphale, I’m _fine,”_ Crowley replied. Now it was weird that the demon was calling him by his God-given name.

 

_What on Earth is going on?_

 

“I thought I could stay with you and help you run the shop for the day? Just sort of… help out?” he added thoughtfully, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Erm, all right. I’ve never had help before,” Aziraphale chuckled. Maybe he was wrong and Crowley wasn’t acting strangely, but as far as he could remember, the demon wasn’t usually one to “help out”.

 

“I really don’t have much to get done today- I could close up early and we could go off somewhere-- have a picnic or something? Maybe go enjoy the park? Or see a film?” Az suggested, glancing around the empty shop.

“No, angel, really. I wanna see how it’s done,” Crowley replied, clasping his hands behind his back politely. Aziraphale blinked and then got on to explaining his filing system to an unusually complacent Crowley. The angel tried to hide his growing confusion over Crowley until half way through teaching him how to do inventory, he finally said something about it.

 

“Crowley, you must tell me what’s wrong. This isn’t like you! I’ve been prattling on about this for several hours and you’ve been-- well, not you!” Aziraphale said, crossing his arms for the first time in 280 years (the last time had been Crowley’s fault, too). Crowley’s shoulders dropped and he looked like himself for the first time all day.

 

“I’m trying something new, angel. I’m trying-- well, strictly speaking, I’m not really one of ‘Hell’s minions’ anymore. They haven’t given me any orders since the Apocalypse almost happened and I don’t think I’d want to take their orders from them even if they-”

“You mean to say,” Aziraphale broke in, sensing Crowley was getting off track with his rambling, “that you’re trying to… be...” the angel trailed off. Neither of them would say the word “good” but they were both thinking it really hard.

 

“Look, I _really_ don’t want to make a big deal about this. I’m just-- trying something different,” Crowley said, being very careful not to stammer. He hadn’t wanted to tell Aziraphale at all but it when it came to things like this (things being of the celestial and occult varities), the angel was surprisingly clever at figuring it all out. Aziraphale nodded but made no further comment, looking down at his hands anxiously. Crowley… wanting to be… good?

 

_Whatever could this mean?_


	5. Will You Get Drunk With Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay  
> this chapter is teeny tiny but the next one is going to be filled with so many feels that it needs its space. Badly so. The next one is when all the feelings come out. Slow burn coming to an end, and then there will be a little bit of smutty happy peace before the Big Bad happens ;)

So Crowley was trying to be _good_. Aziraphale hurriedly explained to him that that didn’t mean he had to help in the bookstore (because that was one of Aziraphale’s more sinful parts of life) and although Crowley didn’t say anything, Az could tell he was immensely relieved. Crowley had been very careful to look directly through his glasses instead of over or around them because his eyes had started to glaze over in the first 15 minutes.

 

“All right, so what _can_ we do? And do I look all right? Is this… good?” Crowley waved a hand at himself. Aziraphale looked him over reluctantly and noted that he much preferred the old Crowley. This new Crowley was too stiff and too… _well, buttoned,_ and aside from that the man himself looked flat out uncomfortable, as though he were wearing a corset (which he’d done a few times- he’d never been really fond of them).

“You look like you’re going to a parent teacher conference. It’s not so much about how you dress but how you-- er, how…” Aziraphale made some ambiguous hand motions and the demon just stared at him.

“What?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Never you mind, you look fine, dear boy,” Az choked out and waved him towards the front of the bookshop. “We’re not staying in today. I’ll show you everything I’ve been doing for the past few centuries.”

 

The pair then dropped by a nearby soup kitchen, where everyone knew Aziraphale’s name and seemed so very pleased to see him; the library Az had mentioned earlier, where the case was much the same; and a wildlife preserve that cared for wounded birds. They volunteered at each place for a few hours and then went out to get celebratory sushi. Crowley had really not enjoyed it but seeing how much Aziraphale did… He kept his eyes on the table while the angel worked his way through a plate of shrimp tempura. Every little moan of pleasure and delighted hoot from Aziraphale was pure torture, but Crowley had been doing this kind of thing quite a while.

 

_Keep your eyes down, don’t look, don’t see him when he’s so pretty, don’t let him see--_

 

“So what did you think?” Aziraphale said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Crowley shook out of his anti-Azirphale trance and finally let himself look up. Crowley took a sip from the glass of wine by his arm and shrugged like a little kid.

 

“I… didn’t love it, sorry, angel. It just wasn’t my thing. Maybe I went a little too far. I don’t have to be an agent of Hell but I don’t have to do little favors for Heaven either. I mean, maybe I should just be… me?” Crowley said uncertainly, very glad his sunglasses were hiding his eyes. Aziraphale smiled at him very gently.

“Of course you can just be you, dear. That was what we won by stopping the Apocalypse-- to live here, as we are, undisturbed by Heaven or Hell. My people haven’t exactly, uh...” he tugged at his collar uncomfortably, “-contacted me either. It’s been complete radio silence.” Crowley blinked at him and polished off the glass of wine.

“You-you never told me that,” Crowley said, finally starting to feel the alcohol. Aziraphale bit his lip- _damn him –_ and looked down at his empty plate.

 

“It never mattered. We were finally… free. Together. Allowed to be… friends,” Az said very softly, the pause before “friends” sticking out like a sore thumb. He was holding something back but Crowley couldn’t tell what. Something seemed to occur to the angel that set his face into a determined grimace and he said, “Would you do me the honor of getting drunk with me tonight?”

Crowley cocked his head. “Again? Oh, angel, you’re going to have to be careful with your alcohol. At this rate, you’re going to be drunk until mid-century and then you’re going to complain about how many book deals you missed,” he said, snapping his fingers to curse the check away.

“Oh, Crowley,” Az chastised and pulled out a crisp 20 pound note to lay down on the table. “But will you?” he asked again. Crowley nodded a little with a small smile on his face.

 

“Of course, angel”


	6. Oh Shit They're Talking About Their Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut incoming- some at the end of this chapter but mainly next chapter will be STRAIGHT UP SMUT (not straight at all though)  
> Az and Crowley try some new things ;)

Crowley and Aziraphale piled into the Bentley and raced back to the bookshop and within 10 minutes they were selecting bottles to start with from the table of liquor and wine Crowley had cursed into existence. Az selected a bottle of single malt and Crowley decided on more whiskey (his favorite was cinnamon whiskey or sometimes vodka-- whatever he could find that was the foulest). They tossed back bottle after bottle-- or at least, Crowley did. Aziraphale had one (1) drink and reluctantly miracaled away anything else he was supposed to be drinking.Before long, two things were true. 1) Crowley was severely drunk and 2) Aziraphale was severely sober.

 

Az _had_ planned on getting drunk for this but he had realized on the way home it would be better to be sober now and drunk later. After all, if he really was going to tell Crowley about his feelings and wanted to be short and concise; clinical. Because God knew Crowley _wouldn’t_ be. Imagining the various reactions the demon could have made Aziraphale want to be drunk for the first part again, but he swallowed his fear and looked over at Crowley sadly. Crowley had been mid-drink and as he lowered the bottle, he met Aziraphale’s gaze. “What?” he giggled drunkenly, his sunglasses sliding down on his nose to reveal his bright yellow eyes.

 

“Crowley, there’s something I have to tell you,” Aziraphale started. Crowley cocked his head and licked his lips expectantly. However much he could tell from intuition, he knew it was going to be bad.

 

“Wull this sounds important-- let me sober up first,” Crowley said, lifting a hand to snap his way sober.

 

“Wait! Please, don’t. It will be… much easier for me if you’re inebriated,” Aziraphale waved his hands to stop him. Az took a deep breath he didn’t need and sat forward in his chair.

 

“I love you, Crowley.” Time seemed to stop as they both stared at each other-- no, no, time had _actually_ stopped. Crowley had subconsciously snapped his fingers and the clocks had all frozen, refusing to move forward a single tick.

 

“Whut?”

“I love you.”

“No, I heard that, but-”  
“I mean it, I really do.”

“Well, I love you too mate, but I don’t think you mean-”

“But I do.”

“But I’m not sure you really-”

“I’m sure.”

“But do you mean-”

“Yes.”

 

Aziraphale let the word hang in the air between them because he couldn’t read Crowley’s expression in the dimness of the shop. He realized after a moment of staring at the demon that he was shaking, just a little.

 

“Crowley?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Crowley, dear boy, are you quite all right?”

 

Crowley was-- was _crying_. His shoulders were shaking and the tears shown on his face just beneath the edge of the glasses as they slipped down his cheeks. Aziraphale leaped to his feet and closed the distance between the two of them, daring to get so close as to sink down on his knees by Crowley’s chair. “Crowley, are you quite all right?” he asked worriedly, taking the demon’s hands as he’d done so many times before. But that only made him shake harder and turn his head away from Az to try and hide his treacherous face. Aziraphale’s heart was about to beat out of his chest. He’d felt adrenaline before, or something quite like it, but this was so different and new.

 

“I’m so-”

“So?”

“So-”

“What, dear?”

 

Crowley fumbled with his words for a moment. “Happy. So happy,” he finally said, his glasses slipping down to reveal a flurry of emotions playing in his eyes. Fear. Relief. Joy. Not just joy- wild, unbridled joy, the kind of joy you feel when you’ve made it through a horrible accident and realize that you’re really alive and that you’re going to make it. Love. Deep, long-lasting, pure _love._ Aziraphale got to his feet again and pulled Crowley awkwardly into his arms where the demon sobbed into his shoulder. Of the dozens of reactions Aziraphale had carefully calculated, this was _not_ one of them. He didn’t even know what emotion Crowley was displaying right now. He said he was happy but he was crying and all the while he was trying not to let Aziraphale see.

 

After a moment the poor demon seemed to pull himself together a little, so Aziraphale pulled back and took Crowley’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over Crowley’s cheeks. “Crowley, what-”

 

But before he could say anymore, Crowley’s lips were on his. If Aziraphale had had any breath, it would be gone now. The kiss was like a lightning strike-- sudden and white hot and electric. Before Az even knew what he was doing he was moving back against Crowley, hands sliding down to grip the fine short hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck.

 

Crowley pulled back and looked at Aziraphale. “Y-you’re sure? You really- really mean it?” Crowley sniffled, looking up at Az over the tops of his glasses. Aziraphale traced the line of Crowley’s jaw with a thumb and swiped at a few of the tears that were still falling.

 

“Of course, Crowley. Why wouldn’t I be?” Az frowned at him. Somewhere in the confusion, Aziraphale had ended up sitting in Crowley’s lap in the chair and everything was starting to feel a little too _warm_ and a little too _close_ but Az wasn’t totally convinced he didn’t like it. “But-- does that mean-- I mean, I never could’ve even _hoped--_ ”

 

“Yeah,” muttered Crowley thickly, “that’s exactly what I’ve thought for 6,000 years.” Aziraphale’s jaw slackened in understanding and this time it was Az who was crying. He looked down at his demon and saw all the _pain_ of all those years pass over his face.

 

“You’ve- you-- 6,000-”

“Yes, angel, you’re incredibly thick and I’m an incredible liar,” Crowley bit with a grin on his face.

 

Aziraphale hooted indignantly and trembled a little bit as Crowley slid a hand beneath the edge of his waistcoat, cool fingers traveling to the spot at the bottom of his spine. “You don’t know,” Crowley began, fingers traveling, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.” His eyes were still red from crying but they burned with a fierce intensity that Az had never seen before.

 

“I, uh, Crowley- I… well, uh-” Aziraphale stammered, holding onto Crowley for dear life. At the first sign of hesitation, Crowley pulled back, withdrawing his hand from Az’s flesh.

 

“It’s okay, angel, we can go as slow as you like,” Crowley said softly, that heat gone from his eyes as quickly as it had appeared. Something in those words caught Aziraphale off guard and he bent down over Crowley, pressing his mouth to the demon’s neck and moving Crowley’s hand back to where it ought to be. Crowley let out a gasp of genuine shock and was completely immobile for a moment before he remembered that he also had a mouth and two hands.


	7. Directly Incredibly Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completely totally wholly smut. You can skip it if you like. This one is going to be top!Azira and bottom!Crowley but Crowley will get a shot at being a top in the next chapter if you wanna skip to that. 
> 
> RIP yall

 

 _I can’t believe this is happening_ is the last rational thought that crossed Crowley’s mind for a good while. He was drunk and _warm_ and he had Aziraphale in _his lap_ telling him that he was in love with him and sucking on his neck and-- oh.

 

Aziraphale had begun doing this lovely little thing with his hands where his fingers were creeping beneath Crowley’s clothes and exploring and they were so _warm._ Az pulled away and Crowley almost whined at how much he wanted him closer. “Hey, look at me,” Aziraphale said firmly and Crowley unwillingly opened his eyes. Az was still and steady, and he wasn’t backing down. “Do you want to go upstairs?” Crowley nodded as much as he could without banging his head into Aziraphale.

 

Az climbed off of Crowley’s lap with ease and helped him up the stairs (between Crowley being drunk and overeager, he had a _very_ hard time getting up the stairs without falling). There was one room on the second floor that Aziraphale didn’t _actually_ use-- to the very far right was a spare bedroom he only used for storage, but when the door swung open, a king sized bed was there, right in the middle. As soon as they got into the room, Az practically flung Crowley onto the bed where he collapsed gratefully. Before Crowley could even work through what was happening in his muddled head, Aziraphale was on top of him again, shrugging off his cream coat and leaning back down over his demon.

 

“You’re a bit eager,” Crowley managed but he couldn’t say any more because Az was grinding down on his hips and holy _hell_ that felt _good_. Aziraphale leaned close to Crowley’s ear, nibbling at it and tracing trails of fire across his chest with his fingers. Crowley’s prick was hard beneath Az and he knew the angel could tell.

 

“I’ve done this before but you’re the only one I’ve ever _really_ wanted that way,” he hissed wickedly and Crowley had to choke back a moan. Aziraphale leaned back again only to snap his fingers and Crowley’s clothes were gone. Az worked his way down Crowley’s neck, leaving burning kisses in his wake before starting in on his nipples. Crowley arched his back and whimpered underneath Aziraphale and he could feel Aziraphale smile against his skin. Crowley could hardly _breathe,_ he had to be _touched_.

 

“You’ve- you’ve done this b-before?” Crowley could hardly form words but if he could just distract the angel and reach down-

“Yes, dear. Oscar and I were together for a little while, but he doesn’t compare to you,” Aziraphale mumbled and licked a track down to his belly button. Az caught Crowley’s hand in a vise like grip on the way down to his cock and said, “Uh uh uh,” and with a snap Crowley’s wrists were manacled to the headboard of the bed, nowhere near where he needed to be.

 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley groaned, bucking up beneath him, trying to relieve himself a little.

 

“I know-” his hand brushed against Crowley’s dick and he mewled, “-what I like,” Aziraphale said. Crowley looked up at him in startled disbelief, scared of Aziraphale for the first time in 6,000 years. A minute or two more of Az torturing him with fingers and tongues and lack thereof and then Crowley was in his mouth and he couldn’t _breathe_.

 

“Az-azira-” Crowley mumbled, trying his very best to get the angel’s attention. A second later Crowley was chilled and his cock _hurt_ because it wasn’t in Aziraphale’s mouth anymore and then Aziraphale was looking into his eyes with worry spread across his features.

 

“Is everything all right dear? I’m not hurting you, am I? Oscar and I only did this part a few times but he always seemed to like it. I really don’t want to hurt, you, I just-”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Bloody well shut up! I was trying to tell you I’ve never done this before.”

“You what?”

“I’m a _bloody virgin,_ Aziraphale.”

 

Aziraphale paused and looked at Crowley with a mischievous light in his eyes. “Well now,” he said simply, a malicious grin crossing his angelic features.

 

“Aziraphaleeeeeee,” Crowley whined, more uncomfortable by the moment.

“Right, right,” Az nodded and started to pump Crowley’s cock with a hand while still looking him in the eye.

 

“Oh, my-- Azira, that feels so good. Don’t stop, please,” the demon moaned, gripping the bed sheets for dear life. The angel was still looking Crowley directly in the face and he moved to pull off the sunglasses. That simple motion made Crowley feel more vulnerable than he had all night.

 

“Look at me, Crowley,” Aziraphale directed him and Crowley obeyed. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I have wanted you since the day we met, but I was afraid,” Aziraphale ground out, struggling with his own desire. Crowley thrust up into Azira’s hand desperately, silently begging him to move faster, but he was lost in thought. “But I’ve loved you for 6,000 years and I’m going to love you until the end of time. You’re doing so well, my love, so well. Would you like to come?”

 

Crowley’s eyes were screwed shut and he nodded violently. “Say the word, Crowley,” Az taunted him.

 

“Please!” he screamed.

“Come for me, beautiful boy,” Aziraphale whispered against his skin. And so he did.

 


	8. Round 2 of the Fuckening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, he's your top!Crowley you heathens 
> 
> I really enjoy writing this shit and I'm actually kinda sad to go back to main plot after this-- let me know what ya'll think

 

The next thing Crowley could remember was waking up beside Aziraphale on the bed. He didn’t know how long he had been out, but Az had put a blanket over him and was laying right up against him, stroking his hair ever so gently. Crowley mumbled something indiscernible, probably trying to thank Az or even ask if that had actually happened, but he couldn’t get the words out. Aziraphale shushed him absentmindedly.

 

After the demon had fallen back into a restful sleep, Aziraphale slipped off the bed and ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him gently. After having gotten incredibly drunk and being fucked for the first time in his entire existence, Az was fairly sure that he’d sleep for a bit. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was definitely in need of a cup of tea.

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley woke up alone in a bed he didn’t recognize. And then it hit him. He glanced around the room-- books. Yes, it was definitely Aziraphale’s spare room. But Crowley was intensely scared that what he remembered wasn’t what had actually happened. Had the pining finally gotten to him so he had intense sex dreams about Aziraphale??? Or… it couldn’t be. No, he wasn’t in Hell. This _was_ the kind of thing they’d use to torture him, and certain things about Aziraphale’s behavior had been surprising to Crowley, but-- no. Of course not. Only one way to find out. Crowley pushed the blanket off of him and slid out of bed. Ooh. That was a new feeling. He was _sore_. How delightful. Still, he doubted the credibility of his memory. He wouldn’t have put it past Hell to kidnap him, give him exactly what he wanted and then take it away again immediately right as he was at his most happy.

 

Crowley got to the bedroom door before remembering he was clothes-less. Grabbing the blanket he’d been asleep under and wrapping it around him, he padded out to the landing and continued across to the bathroom, which had light showing from under the door. Crowley knocked gently on the door and called out, “Angel?”

 

“Yes, dear?” came a voice from inside. Crowley turned the knob and stepped inside. The air was heavy from the steam; Aziraphale was across the room in the bathtub, reclined back comfortably. “You didn’t have to get up if you didn’t want to, you haven’t slept long,” Az added, sitting up and stirring the water a bit. He pulled his arms in over his chest as though he didn’t want Crowley to see.

 

“I didn’t want to sleep if you weren’t next to me,” Crowley said, very easily abandoning the theory that this was Hell and he was being tortured. Because it didn’t _feel_ like torture, it felt _good,_ and Crowley knew he should be more cautious but he really didn’t want to. Aziraphale blushed a bit and scooted back in the tub, pulling his knees up to his chest. Why-

 

“Angel, is something wrong?” Crowley said. The closer he got, the more Aziraphale contained himself, as though he were hiding something embarrassing. Aziraphale looked down abashedly and didn’t say anything for a moment.

 

“It’s just- I’m… I haven’t-- I’ve sort of let my vessel get a little out of shape, and I just--” Crowley’s jaw dropped in realization and he closed the distance to the tub, dropping down to his knees by the end where Aziraphale’s head was. Crowley reached into the warm water and used two fingers to tilt Az’s chin up so they were eye to eye.

 

“Oh, angel,” he sighed, and then Crowley was kissing him. This wasn’t the electric heat from earlier; this was a slow burning heat that builds up in your chest and just won’t break. The kind that borders on pain from how pleasurable it is. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s tongue prod questioningly at the corner of his mouth and he parted his lips, letting Crowley’s slick tongue explore his mouth. Aziraphale felt positively attached to Crowley like he wouldn’t be able to breathe without his lips upon him.

 

“You ready for round two?” Crowley broke away to whisper in the angel’s ear. Aziraphale’s breathing hitched and he pulled back to look in the demon’s eyes which were glowing brightly again.

 

“You can- you can do that?” Az murmured dazedly, suddenly eyeing Crowley’s blanket get-up with much more interest.

 

“Demonic refractory period-- it comes with the job. Never did use it much but it was damn useful when I did.” Crowley stepped back and held out his hands to help Aziraphale out of the bath.

 

“I thought you said you’d never-”  
“That never meant I wasn’t _alone_ with myself, angel,” Crowley teased. Now, _finally_ , it was Azira’s turn to look scandalized. When they reached the room, they both stopped to look at each other and Crowley snickered.

 

“Oh, Aziraphale, you didn’t think you were gonna be on top again, did you? It’s _your_ turn,” Crowley chuckled darkly.

 

“Erm, really, I really just like making you-”

“Oh, angel, so humble. So giving. So _ssssweet_ ,” Crowley hissed, pushing Az onto the bed gently. After all the passion he’d shown earlier, Aziraphale sure knew how to blush. Aziraphale had landed halfway across the bed, so Crowley stepped up to the foot and pulled Az back down the bed by his ankles, wrenching his legs apart.

 

Crowley leaned down over him on the bed and pulled him into a deep kiss that was much too quickly abandoned to move down Az’s chest the way he himself had done to Crowley earlier. “Say it again?” Aziraphale moaned.

 

“What?”

“My name.”

“ _Angel_.”

 

Aziraphale shuddered at the sound of it and he was glad he didn’t have to hide it anymore.

 

“You are,” Crowley kissed a spot on his belly, “ _sssso_ beautiful.” He kissed the other side. “Ssssso handsome.” His kisses were going lower now. Aziraphale gasped because then Crowley’s mouth was on his cock and he forgot what breathing felt like. He gripped the sheets and his stomach fluttered. And then all of a sudden the contact was gone and Aziraphale whimpered as Crowley got back to his feet.

 

Crowley snapped and a bottle of lube appeared in his hand. Aziraphale tried not to let himself look too shocked-- now this was something _he’d_ never done before. But he wasn’t afraid, not when it was Crowley there doing it with him.

 

Crowley slid in very carefully and stopped. _Oh._ That was _Heavenly_. Aziraphale felt so delightfully _full_ and he could hear Crowley’s breathing hitch and that just made him hotter. After a moment of a feeling so _good_ he couldn’t focus on anything else, Crowley got to moving and Azira cried out.

 

“Angel, are you okay?” Crowley said worriedly, stopping his movement.

“No, no, don’t _stop_ , pleaseee,” Az ground out through clenched teeth, “So good. Feels so good. Please.”

 

“Oh, angel, you look so beautiful like that. So handsome. Would you ssssay my name, angel?” Crowley groaned into him, beginning to move faster now.

 

“C-crowley!” Aziraphale whined, still gripping the bed sheets. His cock hurt because no one was _touching_ it and it was utter torture.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this. Fuck you until you’re screaming my name. Do you like it, angel?”

 

“Y-yes,” Azi whimpered.

 

“You look so beautiful like that. I’ve never wanted something more in my life, Aziraphale. I’ve waited for this for 6,000 years. Please, will you come for me?” Crowley was doing surprisingly well with the talking considering how close he was himself.

 

“Yes, darling, yes, please, please let me,” Azi moaned. Crowley kept thrusting but moved a hand down from his knee to his prick and started pumping it mercilessly.

 

“Come for me, angel,” Crowley said but what he didn’t expect was for them both to come together. It was the single most pleasurable experience of either of their lives, and once it was over, the pair climbed into the bed and under the sheets properly for the first time, both naked and spent and shuddering and they held each other until they fell asleep, each whispering sweet nothings in the others ear.


	9. oh fuck here we go

 

When Crowley woke up this time, Aziraphale was still beside him and Crowley had never seen a sweeter expression on his face. They say that humans look peaceful when they’re asleep but Az was positively glowing. Crowley’s stomach flipped in an incredibly human way and he carded his fingers through Az’s short blond hair carefully. The motion didn’t wake him, so Crowley carefully slid out of bed and pulled the sheets back up to Aziraphale so he was covered and warm. Crowley had been thinking about this morning for 6,000 years and he had plans to enact.

 

 

X

 

 

Aziraphale blinked slowly in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows of the spare room. He breathed a sigh of pure contentment and reached over, expecting warm skin or hair and finding only empty sheets. Sure he’d done the same thing to Crowley, but _really_. Az rolled over to his other side and ran his fingers through his hair as he sat up. He was still completely naked so he miracaled a pair of soft clean pajama pants-- they were a soft off-white with little angel wings and halos stitched all over them.

 

As Aziraphale blinked away the sleep, he could see someone standing just outside of the bedroom, peaking in through the crack in the door. “That you, darling? Where did you go?” Aziraphale said, rubbing at his eyes and looking again at the doorway. But it wasn’t Crowley who was nudging the door open or looking at him in disgust.

 

“Ya know, when they told me the two of you were… _fraternizing_ ,” Gabriel said the word distastefully, “-I thought, ‘no, surely not. Aziraphale is an idiot and a terrible angel, but he’s not an abomination. Not a _monster_.’” Aziraphale couldn’t do anything but stare. His heart was in his throat, but he couldn't move, couldn't _blink_. “But I guess they were right. Lucky you two forced us to work with the demons because they’ve been quite helpful the past month or so.”

 

“What- what are you doing here, Gabriel?” Aziraphale finally managed.

“I’m here to give you the punishment you deserve. We still haven’t quite worked out how you did the neat trick with the hellfire but we know you didn’t get what was coming to you and we’re here to fix that,” Gabriel stepped to the side, away from the door, to reveal Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon. The four of them sneered at him as though they were looking at some ugly cannibalistic fish. And then they pounced. 

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley stepped back into the bookshop, sunshine following his steps, and locked the door behind him. No one was going to be disturbing Az for his books today; the two of them had too much important _work_ to get done. But just as he’d always planned, Crowley had driven in record time to Aziraphale’s favorite crepe joint and picked up a bottle of Châteauneuf-de-Pape on his way back to the shop and they were going to have a lovely breakfast in bed. It was exactly the type of sin Aziraphale lived for.

 

As Crowley turned back to face the interior of the shop, he could tell something was wrong. The place was too… cold. Empty feeling. Hollow. Still, he was probably just being paranoid and he didn’t want to ruin the surprise by calling out for Aziraphale now. Crowley carefully climbed the spiral staircase and pushed his way into the spare room, but the bed was empty and the sheets were torn asunder. The demon frowned.

 

“Angel?” Crowley said as steadily as he could manage. If he could hear the panic in his own voice, it would make it real. Crowley set the paper bag and bottle on the bed and checked each of the other rooms on the floor. Bathroom-- nope. Kitchen-- nuh uh. Workshop-- empty. “Aziraphale?” Crowley said much louder, his voice echoing throughout the shop. But Aziraphale was gone and he would be for quite a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *writing this chapter* none of you deserve this, especially not Aziraphale or Crowley wtf  
> A/N  
> Okay guys  
> welp  
> I've got five long days of work ahead of me so updates will be shorter. I thought I'd leave you with a nice little cliffhanger before I had to be back at work and not constantly working on this bad boy. Please keep commenting and tell me what you think, I really super appreciate it and it's what's keeping me going (and not just as far as this fic)  
> but the heart breaking is about to start


	10. Mr. Applegate

 

 

Mr. Applegate was totally and completely, for all he knew, normal. He’d gone to Oxford and had a nice teaching position and a nice little car that always needed fixing. But that was what Mr. Applegate liked. He tended to be fussy, especially about his food, and that is the reason his neighbors thought he hadn’t found a wife yet. But Mr. Applegate was perfectly happy alone. Or so he thought.

 

Every night, his dreams plagued him with memories of another life-- of flying in the clouds on mammoth white wings and talking to-- someone. Someone that Mr. Applegate couldn’t, for the life of him, remember. If he were superstitious, he would think that they were memories of a past life, and remarkably, he would be right. But Mr. Applegate was not superstitious.

 

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Mr. Applegate looked up from the book whose binding he was carefully repairing. He’d made a hobby out of it and if he was truthful, it’s what he wanted to do _all_ the time, but he couldn’t make a career out of that.

 

“I was saying you should take the leap. Go to Africa. It pays really well and it’s an incredible opportunity,” James was saying. Mr. Applegate looked up from his book and for a second he could have sworn James had purple eyes. But once he shook his head and looked again, they were blue, like normal. Funny old world.

 

“Of course it would, but I don’t know if I’m cut out for it,” Mr. Applegate worried. Turning back to his book steadied his nerves.

 

“What do you have there?” James asked, looking down in interest.

“One of my favorite first editions lost it’s binding. About time too, it’s been looking dreadful for a few years. I’m just repairing it.” Mr. Applegate replied.

 

James reached over and pressed the book away from Mr. Applegate and into the plastic folding table the teachers ate at whenever they had occasion. “The world isn’t in here, Francis. It’s out there- it’s the trip to Africa. It’s everything except sitting inside with another damn first edition.” At Mr. Applegate’s dark look, he amended, “They’re good for rainy days but are you going to always be content being sat around inside?”

 

Mr. Applegate glanced out of the window where the sun shone and the breeze ruffled nearby trees so they brushed the glass panes of the windows. “Okay, James, you win. I’ll go to Africa if they’ll have me.”

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley sank down to the floor of the bookshop. It had been a week since Azira went missing and there was nothing he could do anymore. At first, Crowley had wondered if Aziraphale had simply gone somewhere himself to get something but when he didn’t come back… He’d searched all day every day, only ever stopping to figure out where to check next. But now there was only one place left to go.

 

Scrambling off the floor with fire burning in his chest, Crowley set up the communications circle he’d seen Aziraphale use before. When the final candle was lit, a beam of light awakened and the Metatron’s face appeared. The Metatron stared at Crowley and Crowley stared at the Metatron. “Well?” it boomed.

 

“Where. Is. Aziraphale?” Crowley said through gritted teeth. The Metatron inclined his head knowingly.

 

“He is serving out his punishment.”

“What punishment?” Crowley roared.  
“The one he earned.”

“What have you done with him?!”

“He wanted to live as a sinful mortal, so we made him one.” The Metatron had an unforgiving expression on his face. Crowley’s eyes widened frightfully.

 

“You what?”

“Goodbye, Crowley. Be thankful your lot haven’t given you the same treatment.” The Metatron’s face flickered and disappeared. Crowley cursed loudly and kicked the still lit candles, spilling hot wax all over Aziraphale’s floor. Not that it would matter if Crowley couldn’t find him.

 

_Where would they hide him?_

 

 

X

 

 

 _“_ _You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

 

Francis Applegate awoke with a start. If he didn’t look around and find himself to be in his bed at home, he could’ve sworn he was sitting in an old car beside-- who? _Who?_

 

Red hair. Dark glasses. Beautiful.

_Beautiful._

Now that was unusual.

 

As long as he could remember, Francis Applegate had never found anyone beautiful. _Never._ He had just assumed it was something he couldn’t feel, just something he wasn’t into. Maybe it was just because it was a dream and dreams are a lot different than real life. Still, this red-haired gentleman was someone he really wanted to meet, much less remember.

 

_Of course, he probably wouldn’t like me the way I like him, even if he is really real._

 

Whatever the case, the dreams were Francis’ favorite form of self-torture.

 _Crowley. Crowley._ He savored the name in his mind. _Crowley._

Francis wanted to see him again. Had to see him again. He grabbed the sketchbook he so rarely used from the table beside his bed and started sketching. After a few hours, he had at least half a dozen roughly colored sketches of the mystery man, his red hair the only color on the page.

 

“Who are you?” he whispered, gazing at the one he’d just finished.

_What if he was real?_

Francis frantically flipped to a blank page in his sketchbook and started scribbling down everything he could remember about the dreams. He remembered a very familiar bookshop, but of course his dreams hadn’t shown him the name. Just his luck. He could remember the books and what it felt like to be there-- warm and comforted. Like home.

 

“Maybe I sold books,” Francis said wistfully, writing that bit down. He remembered park benches and a birthday party and an airport of some sort, but none of that was helpful. The hazy memory of a fancy dining room came to mind next. After Googling minute details, smacking himself in the head so he'd remember _something_ , and cross-referencing images searches, he found it looked remarkably similar to the Ritz in London. Francis Applegate had never _been_ to London, but he was already halfway packed for the Teachers Without Borders program in North Africa. He would just have to postpone that trip; this was too important.

 

A half hour later, running out to the street bag half zipped and bunches of things under an arm, Francis hailed a cab and was on the way to the train station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all understand the name "applegate"? In so far as he guarded Eden? Eh? Eh???? okay  
> anyway the angels also chose Francis because Gabe just hates the name (also hilarious since Francis McDormand is the voice of God so it's two jokes in one)
> 
> But anyway  
> :)  
> leave me angry comments about torturing the babes THEY FUEL ME


	11. Tell Me About Him

Oh, what was a demon to do? His angel had been taken away Gabriel-knew-where, and there was nothing he could do about it. If Aziraphale had been gone gone, he would’ve fought his way to some holy water and taken a bath but with him being so in reach… Still.

 

Crowley had lost count of how many days had passed, how many hours, how many _minutes_ without Aziraphale. All he could do was wait until he figured something out or Aziraphale-- remembered? Escaped? He wasn’t quite sure what state the angel was in as the Metatron hadn’t exactly been forthcoming.

 

Surely they wouldn’t put him in London and probably not anywhere they’d ever been together. Crowley snatched at an old atlas Az kept around and flipped it open. He grabbed a black marker and started crossing out possibilities.

 

 

X

 

 

Francis Applegate hadn’t quite made it to the top of the stairs before the host was gathering up two menus and saying, “Welcome back, Mr. Fell. We’re very pleased to see you. How are you tonight, sir?”

 

“’Fell’? My name is Applegate, sir.” The waiter cocked a head at him (a motion that looked _extremely_ familiar) and turned back to the host podium, waiting for further instructions.

“My apologies, sir,” he said.

“You know me, though, do you?” Francis said, glancing around the golden dining room for any threads that would tug at his memory.

“It would seem not, sir,” the host said, setting the menus down.

“Well, I think you might. I seem to be… suffering a loss of memory recently. Can you-- can you possibly tell me about myself?” Francis clasped his hands nervously, staring at the host.

 

The host paused and then spoke into a small black microphone attached to his tuxedo, calling for someone named “Shirley” to take over the podium for a few minutes. The host himself, who was called Charlie, showed Francis over to a side booth they so rarely utilized because of how isolated it was.

 

“You say you don’t remember?” Charlie said, slicking back his black hair. Francis shook his head. “Well, then, I’ll tell you all that I can, but I’m relatively new.” Francis stared at him in wonder, a small pad of paper and pen at the ready.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your husband, but I’m not always working when you come in, so you may not always be together,” Charlie said, staring at the tabletop as he recalled memories.

 

“Hus-hu-husband?” Francis stammered, suddenly going very red.

“Oh, my apologies, sir. You may not be married but most of the kitchen staff and wait staff are sure they’ve never seen you without him, and the way you look at each other-”

“Him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me. Who is he? What does he look like?” Charlie thought a moment.

“Red hair. Pale. Dark sunglasses, dark clothes. Rakish. Tall. Tips well.” Charlie recalled. Francis let out a little puff of air and Charlie looked up again.

 

“Sir? Are you all right?” Francis nodded as much as he could manage.

 

_He’s real. He’s real. He- I-_

Francis’ head was a trunk of yarn that had been tangled into an unmanageable knot.

 

“Tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, but I thought y'all would appreciate it :P


	12. Stay Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FOUND WIFI  
> So here is what y'all are getting today- I might have another one done tonight but no promises. Cross your fingers ;)

 

 

“It’s hopeless. Hopeless!” Crowley threw the marker at a wall and threw himself into a nearby chair. He tore off his glasses and threw them as well; they shattered on impact and sent black glass everywhere. Crowley rubbed at his eyes with both hands, but the tears still fell down his cheeks through his fingers. He was never going to see Azi again.

 

_NO! No! If it’s the last thing I do, I’m finding that angel._

 

First things first, though- a drink. Or 30.

 

X

 

 

After Charlie had recounted everything he could remember about the pair, Francis left the Ritz and walked to a park he’d seen nearby to sit down and consider everything. Because the more Charlie the host spoke, the more Francis _remembered_. He wasn’t called Francis, he was called Az- something. But that couldn’t be true. Because even as he remembered being Azira-whats-his-face, he remembered being Francis Applegate. Growing up in Manchester, eating shepard’s pie on rainy days, exploring the woods with his best friend, Jenny.

 

Azira-Francis sat in St. James Park and watched the ducks. Even sitting on the bench, he could feel the ghost of a presence beside him, remembered feeding ducks across the centuries-

 

“Oof-” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes, “Stop it,” he whispered.

 

“Angel.” Francis turned all around looking but no one was there. The only people in sight were an older couple down the path watching the water and a young mother and her kids in the opposite direction.

 

“Angel,” he whispered to himself, testing it out, trying to remember-

But there was nothing there. Nothing to remember. His head was throbbing. Francis got up from the bench and started walking towards the road to hail a cab, but his feet had other plans. Instead of continuing towards the road, he took one of the paths that went in another direction. It felt deeply familiar as though he’d walked this way so many times he’d carved a track into the gravel path. Eventually he reached a street (all with a sense of vague familiarity that he was beginning to get sick of) and followed the sidewalk.

 

He kept having to look over his shoulder or completely turn around to look for the force he felt was accompanying him, but there was nothing there. If not a husband, who had this Crowley been to him? And why did Francis have a deep unsettling _need_ to find him? None of this made any sense. Before he knew it, Francis was standing in front of a bookshop. _The_ bookshop! His bookshop? _His_ bookshop! He read a note on the door in his own hand determining the hours of the shop (which were, in Francis’ opinion, very erratic).

 

“Ah, Mr. Fell!” said a voice behind him. Francis caught himself hoping it was his “rakish husband” but it was someone else entirely; it was an old woman with a dog.

 

“Yes, hello,” Francis said awkwardly.

“Are you opening your shop back up? I’ve been saving up for that Charles Dickens,” she said, glancing between Francis and the maroon bookshop in front of him.

 

“Yes, quite. Listen, have you seen--” he paused, worried about using this word, “my husband around? Red hair?”

 

“Oh yes, Mr. Fell. Where have you been off to? Your poor husband has been completely distraught! He ran out of here several hours ago like he was being chased by the devil.”

 

“Has he come back?”

“Not that I’ve seen, sir, but I haven’t been paying the most attention.”

“Ah, okay, thank you. I’ll— let you know about that copy of Dickens, eh?” Despite being a complete moron, Francis was quite adept at escaping conversations he didn’t want to be a part of anymore. Francis slipped past the customer and tried the door. Luckily, it was unlocked (because Francis Applegate had no idea what he was going to do otherwise).

 

The second he crossed the threshold of the bookshop, something felt… right. One look around the bookshop and Francis realized he could tell you exactly what every book was without looking at it. “Hello?” he called out. No answer. Francis took his time investigating each and every aspect of the bookshop and even though everything felt frightfully familiar, he couldn’t bloody _remember_. When he checked the spare bedroom (where the bed still sat, unmade and empty) he spotted a note sitting on the lopsided coverlet.

 

_Aziraphale_

_Out looking for you, getting drunk, or dead_

_Don’t know which one yet_

_If you find this note, STAY HERE._

 

 

It was obvious that this note was never meant to be read, but alas. Francis most certainly was not going to stay there. He had to find this “Crowley” of his before he did something incredibly stupid, whether or not the red-head was what he remembered from his dreams.

 


	13. The Bandstand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get READY
> 
> for a cliffhanger

The music was too loud. The music hadn’t _been_ too loud for 6,000 years, but today it was too loud. Crowley just wanted everything to _shut up_ for once. He was on his-- he’d lost count at 20. How many drinks could he handle? He was certain he’d been this drunk before but he was planning on pushing past his limit with no regards for what happened after. There was no way in _Heaven_ he’d ever find Aziraphale. The angels knew he’d be looking, especially after the Metatron spilled the beans so they were liable to move him somewhere else. Even if Crowley could figure out where he’d been there was no way for him to know where he was going.

 

And poor Aziraphale-- mortal? That poor sap wouldn’t be able to handle it. Or maybe Crowley was the one having trouble handling it.

 

_No._

 

The club had plenty of leggy human females who were regarding him hungrily but he ignored their lustful glances. He thought that escaping everything that reminded him of Aziraphale was a good idea but now he just felt suffocated. He needed to get out of here.

 

 

X

 

 

Francis turned the note over again in his hands. The script on the paper was comforting to him but he wasn’t going to heed its warning. He couldn’t stay here. He felt drawn to some other place and he couldn’t waste time; whatever kind of gut feeling he had, he felt like it was a limited time offer only. But where would he start? He couldn’t exactly comb all of London.

 

Francis stepped into Aziraphale’s workshop and started rifling through his desk. Maybe it would have some clues to where he was supposed to be at the moment. Order receipts, books of inventory, records of sales-- none of it was what he was looking for. Finished looking for something that wasn’t there, Francis returned to the spare bedroom where he’d found the note and sat down with his bag. He should’ve gotten a hotel room or something when he’d gotten to London but he was just too eager to find out what was really going on, so he’d been carrying his bag all day. At least it wasn’t for nothing.

 

Francis dug out his sketchbook and flipped through the sketches of Crowley back to the list of memories. Maybe he could pick something apart from there. He had scrawled down details about each memory and what he could remember feeling then.

 

 

_-France? Crepes? Guillotine? French Revolution, maybe. Relief. Joy._

_-Oysters in Greece. Content._

_-park. Water, ducks, feeding ducks. 19 th century. Upset. Angry. _

_-garden. Warm. Beautiful. Upset. Scared._

_-bookshop. Warm, safe. Happy. Very happy._

_-airport. Military thing. Scared. Very scared._

_-big white place. Mean people there. Upset. Scared. Worthless._

_-bandstand. Park. Upset. Sad._

 

 

 _Bandstand. Bandstand._ The word echoed in his mind and he was decided.

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley wasn’t really sure why he was here. The bandstand was only ever a place that had left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Before the Almost-pocalypse, he and Az would meet up secretly to discuss things and it was always good to see Aziraphale, but…

 

Then came the Argument. It was capitalized in Crowley’s head because it was the most alone he’d ever felt. Ever. Even in Hell, he knew Aziraphale was out there somewhere and would be happy to see him were he to turn up. But after that day, he didn’t even have Az. And now, here in the dark with just the emptiness of the bandstand surrounding him, he felt the same way he had that day. Crowley cursed up a fresh bottle of cinnamon whiskey and got to work.

 

 

X

 

 

Francis Applegate was seriously, completely _lost_. Night had fallen and he had no clue where he was. Everything looked alien under the London streetlights and he remembered again (not for the last time) that he was chasing this phantom from his dreams but he’d never _been_ to London before and he was all alone. But-- _there!_ There it was! Francis wanted to run to the bandstand but he was so scared that Crowley wouldn’t _be_ there and--

 

He cut off his thoughts and made himself stay in the moment. If Crowley wasn’t there, he’d go back and wait at the bookshop like he’d been told. But if he was--

 

There weren’t any lights in the little cobblestone courtyard and the bandstand was completely in shadow. Francis hoped against all logic that the red-haired man was in there. Francis stepped up onto the bandstand and squinted in the dark.

 

“Hello?”


	14. I Need My Angel Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to hell, darlings

 

 _Who in the_ Heaven _was that?_ Crowley had visited this bandstand several times at night before and no one was stupid enough to go inside-- all dark and scary, someone could get hurt here.

 

“Whoever you are,” Crowley hiccupped, “Please do in fact _fuck off._ ”

“Crowley?”

Crowley froze. Ice water had shot down his spine and through his veins and he suddenly felt much more sober than he actually was. The demon again looked at the silhouette who threatened his brooding place. Crowley slid off the railing and fell to the ground in his drunkenness. The silhouette rushed forward to help him up-- it was. But it couldn’t be. _But it was._

 

Even as the figure helped him up, Crowley could smell that it was the right person. The only one who mattered. Suddenly Francis was being hugged very _very_ tightly and all he could do was take it. It was becoming much too tight very quickly. After all, Crowley was still an occult being and Francis was-- well, _Francis_.

 

“Leggo. Pleaasse,” Francis squeaked, going blue. Crowley released him from the bear hug and put his hands up to cup Francis’ face as he kissed him. Francis pulled away from it almost immediately and Crowley took the signal to back off a little. Something wasn’t right; this wasn’t Aziraphale, but Crowley had known that would be a possibility. Crowley grabbed him by the hand and led him over to one of the archways where the streetlight a ways away made things slightly visible. It was him. It was _really_ him. But not him.

 

It was Aziraphale’s body, Aziraphale’s heart, but _not_ Aziraphale. There was no sparkle of recognition in his eyes, no-- no love. _No love._ And Crowley’s heart broke.

 

 

X

 

 

Well, Francis had found the red-haired man. But he had certainly not expected the reaction he was greeted with. From everything Francis could remember, this stranger called Crowley was very suave and cool and a _rebel_ but the moment he’d gotten to close, the man had pulled him into a tight hug and even _kissed_ him. Maybe they were husbands.

 

 _I must be getting soft._ Francis stretched after the hug as a great many of his bones had popped from the tight embrace. He may have remembered this man but he did _not_ remember that either of them were ever supernatural entities and therefore was puzzled over the surprising amount of strength the red-haired man had displayed considering his size. But now they were standing in the light, he could _really_ look at the man.

 

He was taller than Francis by half a head and his flaming red hair did not disappoint. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses but his face was scrunched up as though--

 

“Are you crying?”

“ _Noooo.”_

 

Now that Francis had found him, he had no idea what to do next.

 

 

X

 

 

Eventually the pair of them headed back to the bookshop. Crowley sobered up immediately and refused to let go of Francis’ hand, despite his concern at not knowing this Crowley fellow. “Your name is _not_ Francis and I’m _not_ letting you go again,” he growled when Francis had inquired about it. The only reason he’d asked was that Crowley was driving like a madman with one hand and Francis thought he should have the other one back. The fact that “Francis” failed to realize was that Crowley _always_ drove this way.

 

When they reached the bookshop, Crowley didn’t even bother trying to get out of the car by letting go. Instead, he cursed himself over to the passenger side and opened the door, first making sure Azira-Francis was still in there and then holding out a hand to help him out. Francis himself had no idea what was going to happen next, and he was wondering right in the moment how the _hell_ Crowley had gotten to the door so quickly. Crowley hadn’t explained who he was or why Francis had memories of the two of them, and he was beginning to become impatient.

 

He didn’t get a chance to complain, however, because before he knew it, they were inside, sat in a few chairs with tea. Crowley had pointed at one specifically and when he sat down he felt incredibly comfortable. He imagined that if he _had_ really lived here, this would be quite his favorite chair. Crowley had been wearing sunglasses the entire time and he didn’t seem to want to take them off inside either. Francis made a note that if he didn’t explain that part, he would ask himself.

 

“Now. Will you _please_ tell me what’s going on?” Francis said as Crowley poured alcohol into his tea.

“In a moment, angel,” he said, concentration awfully hard on his tea.

“Angel?” Francis whispered, barely audible. Crowley’s head snapped up and he spilled a little of his tea. Grumbling a quick “God bless it”, he decided he’d better just get the alcohol in his system and not bother with tea, so he downed the cup in one swallow and set the china down.

 

“Why do you call me that? A few of the people I spoke to said we were married,” Francis said offhandedly. Somehow, the china went flying from the side table to smash against the floor.

 

“Uhhh no.” Crowley said quickly.

“No? You don’t sound so sure.”

“I am sure.” They were both quiet a moment.

“So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Who I am.”

 

Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his chair and hopped up. He strode over to the mantle and touched something and a hidden drawer sprung open. Inside were three wide books that looked rather dusty. He selected the first one, which was dark green and flipped open to the first page. It was a scrapbook. And on the page was a rough but accurate sketch of Francis-- with wings. Big feathery things springing out of his back. “What is this?” Francis said, touching the page gently as though he’d absorb the information through contact.

 

“You. It’s all you.” And so as Crowley made his way through the scrapbooks, he told the story of an angel and a demon who had been best friends for 6,000 years. The story began with a stolen sketch, something Crowley had done when he and Az weren’t very close but he was in love already. Something to make him feel as though he had a teeny tiny part of Aziraphale. It would have been a photograph, but it had been nearly 5,000 years ago now and photographs weren’t really around then. There were gaps spanning centuries in the first book simply because the two weren’t as close. But once they got around to the 1400’s or 1500’s, Crowley had started to save everything. Ticket stubs from the Globe Theater at the last showing of Hamlet before Shakespeare’s death. Papers from ancient Chinese fireworks Crowley had attained for Aziraphale. A recipe for a special kind of sponge cake popular in the 17th century. Handkerchiefs, hand written notes, pressed flowers, prints and even a few commissioned portraits. Just small things really. There was even a locket from the Victorian era with a picture of each of them inside.

 

“It’s what they did at the time,” Crowley pouted.

 

“You’ve shown me all these things but you haven’t explained anything. Was I-- he-- fond of historical keepsakes or something?”

“No, we were there, angel.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“Never.”

 

A beat.

“ _How_ were we there?”

“You’re an angel, angel.”

“I’mma what?”

“An angel”

“Impossible.”

 

Francis frowned at him, expecting this to be some giant joke, but when Crowley didn’t relent, he glanced back at the scrapbooks.

 

“That’s not possible.”

“Ah, here we go.”

“But it’s not!” Crowley didn’t even try to argue. He held out a hand, which Francis tentatively took, and led him out to the main bookshop. Making sure all the blinds were shut tight, he summoned his wings and they appeared on his back with a _woosh!_ Francis jumped back and looked up in amazement, a hand coming up to his mouth in surprise.

 

Despite himself, Francis found his hand raising up to touch Crowley’s raven black feathers. They were the softest thing Francis could ever remember feeling, but when he glanced at Crowley, he stopped. Crowley had almost a pained expression on his face, like he were trying to hold himself together at the seams. “Does it hurt?” Francis asked curiously, blue eyes shining.

 

“No, angel.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes, angel.”

“Then why are you making that face?”

“Because it feels really really _good,_ angel.” Francis withdrew his hand.

“So you say I was-”

“Yes and no.”

 

Crowley banished his wings and readjusted his sunglasses. “Why do you wear those things around everywhere?” Francis said. Crowley gave a little headshake.

 

“Because I like them.” Francis reached up to grab at them and Crowley let him. When the glasses came off, Francis gasped. Crowley stared back at him, yellow eyes and all.

 

“I think that’s enough reveling. I need my angel back.”


	15. Mortal??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> put in the comments what you think is coming next ;)

 

Crowley watched the thing in Aziraphale’s vessel pad around the shop softly, looking at (but not touching) the books. Whatever that thing was, it _wasn’t_ Aziraphale. It walked like Aziraphale and talked like Aziraphale (aside from the hint of a Welsh lilt in his tone) but it wasn’t him. He didn’t remember. He had flashes of memory, just enough to kill Crowley on the inside. Maybe this was _his_ punishment. Maybe the angels had arranged it to be so. Sure, make Aziraphale a mortal and take him away from Crowley but he didn’t _remember_ that he was being punished. As for Crowley, seeing him like this--

 

He’d been a little more than shocked when he’d had a chance to interact with Francis, as he called himself. He wasn’t dressed in the 180 year old coat he favored or any of his usual color scheme-- Crowley’s stomach dropped when he realized Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, was wearing a _t-shirt_. It all felt so incredibly wrong to see him like this.

 

There were only two fixes that came to Crowley’s mind immediately-- call Anathema or try to “curse” him better. Angel blessings and demon curses only had so much power, but after the stunt he’d pulled on the burning M25, Crowley figured it may be worth a shot. If he tried to use his powers to restore Aziraphale, a million things could go wrong. He could fry Az’s brain or turn him into a teacup. So calling Anathema became Plan A.

 

Had Crowley been anyone else, he probably would’ve felt like curling up into a ball and crying. But this was _not_ anyone else; this was the demon Crowley, serpent of Eden and tempter of humanity. And he wasn’t going to stop until he got his angel back.

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley had just picked up the telephone when there was a knock at the front door of the shop. Azira-Francis moved to open it and Crowley shouted out because what if it were demons and or angels come to tear them apart again? But he opened the door anyway and there on the stoop in the dark was Anathema Device.

 

“Oh, hello! How do you do?” Francis said, “I’m sorry, the shop isn’t open right now. I don’t think-- can I help you with something?”

 

“Anathema!” Crowley shouted from the back of the shop. She stepped inside and looked between the two of them.

 

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I don’t know why I’m here because we don’t have the prophecies anymore but I could just feel it. What’s going on Crowley?” Crowley hopped up from his chair and sauntered over to the two of them. He begrudgingly pointed at Azira-Francis.

 

“Look at him.”

“Okay?”

“Really look, Anathema. I mean Look.”

 

So Anathema Looked. She gazed at Azira-Francis and he gazed back. “Oh- oh my-- you’re not mortal, are you?” she looked between the two of them.

 

“I’m almost positive I’ve never been _not_ mortal, dear, but I do have strange dreams and memories of you two so I’m not entirely sure, even if such a thing were possible,” Francis said helpfully. He was getting tired of all these people fussing over him and telling him he had done things and said things and _been_ things he couldn’t remember.

 

“Wait-”

“He has no memory either,” Crowley said, holding his emotions hostage. “None of it. I mean, he’s said he has flashes, but-- look what Heaven did to him,” he bit. He didn’t know if Anathema could help or if she even would so he needed all the sympathy he could get. Plus, he couldn’t help displaying his outrage verbally.

 

“No, they can’t have-- this is bad. Agnes always stressed the importance of you two protecting the planet, I just didn’t know who those prophecies were referring to at the time. I-”

 

“Well were there any prophesies about _this?”_ Crowley spat.

 

“No,” she breathed. “I may have a few things to try, though.” Anathema strode over to the table in the back and set down her bag. Unzipping it, she began pulling out various old spell books and tools to work with. “I didn’t know what I would need when I figured out I had to come here, so I brought it all.”

 

“What’s- what’s this then?” Francis said, taking a few steps closer.

“We’re going to find a spell to fix you,” Anathema said, not looking up from the first book she had started flipping through.

 

“But I’m not broken! And did you say spell? Are you a witch? I really would rather not be involved, I think it was a mistake to come at all, I should very well have just stayed home or gone to Africa like James said-”   
“What? What did you just say?” Crowley interrupted.

 

Francis looked affronted. “I _said,_ I should have just gone to Africa like James suggested-”

“What did he look like, this James?” Crowley said, turning towards the angelic impostor.

“What?”  
“ _What did he look like?”_

“Well, he’s tall, with brown hair, and he has blue eyes but sometimes they look purple, and-” Francis stopped talking when he saw Anathema and Crowley glance knowingly at each other. “What?” he said. He hated being out of the loop. “ _What?”_

 

“Purple eyes? You said purple eyes?”

“Well, yes, but it’s just a trick of the light when-”

“No, it’s not,” Crowley looked like he was about to explode. His yellow snake eyes glittered dangerously. “Africa, you said? Why was he sending you there?”

 

“Well, he wasn’t really _sending_ me, he was trying to get me to apply for a Teachers Without Borders position in Africa because I’d like to travel and he thought I’d be good at it,” Francis explained. Crowley was fuming. Smoke was quite literally rising off of his body in tiny coils that dissipated in the air. Francis stared.

 

“So Gabriel was trying to get him to go to Africa? One of us must be on to something- either you or him,” Anathema said, watching the very angry demon.

 

“It wasn’t me, I never found anything until he showed up out of nowhere. So it must have been you.” Crowley turned back to Azira-Francis and looked him over. “How did you know where to find me?”

 

And so Francis reluctantly retrieved his sketchbook with the sketches of Crowley and his list of memories and carefully explained everything he’d been piecing together. If he didn’t know better, Crowley seemed to stop fuming and start _glowing_ at the sketches of him. They weren’t very good at all; Francis had wanted to be an artist when he was younger but was never very good at it. But it was enough.

 

“And so between the internet and hazy memories, I found my way to the bandstand. Is it important?” Francis concluded. Crowley nodded sullenly. Francis opened his mouth to ask exactly _how_ it was important, but the look on Crowley’s face stopped him. He almost looked close to tears and pointing that out was liable to make everything worse.

 

“Well, if he’s beginning to remember on his own, a minor spell could be all he needs to go back to normal.” Anathema flipped open her books and started searching.


	16. For Things Lost

“Okay, okay, here’s one. ‘For Things Lost’. Let’s try it-- can’t hurt,” Anathema said, reading over the spell and putting her hands up in the air in front of poor Francis who had had six spells already.

 

_What was lost now is found,_

_As my magick circles round._

_Whether you are hidden far or near,_

_I call you now to come meet me here._

 

Francis’ eyes became unfocused for a second and there was a small _pop!_

 

“Any luck?” Crowley was drinking again. Francis looked at the pair of them strangely.

 

“I left my banana in the freezer last week. I was looking all over for it,” Francis said in a defeated sort of way. “Bugger,” mumbled Crowley, tilting his head back and draining the last of the wine. For a demon, he wasn’t much of a drinker, but the past two or three months had really worn on him.

 

“All right, well, here’s another one right beside it. _Lost thing, be-”_

“Stop,” Crowley said.

“But-”

“Just… give him a break for tonight. He’s mortal after all, he must be exhausted. Are you tired?” he directed this last question to Francis, who was mid-yawn. “See? He needs sleep and I need-- more alcohol.” Crowley silently counted the empty bottles strewn on the floor around his armchair.

 

“No, really, I’m _fine_ -”

“Go to bed, angel,” Crowley commanded, staring at him behind the recaptured pair of sunglasses.

 

“There are a few potions I could work on, I just need the ingredients for them. I’ll got and find them somewhere, something’s gotta be open.” Anathema said, packing her things.

 

“Do what you like, I’m just worried we’ll have to take this a different direction. You can sleep here if you like.” Crowley said in a rare show of obvious kindness. Most of the nice things he did were more barely-not-evil rather than compassionate. Anathema made a face at him.

 

“Think I’ll drive home, thanks. It’s not that far.”

“It’s an hour on the M25.”

“I’ll manage.”

 

And then Anathema was gone, leaving Crowley with the not-angel. The pair of them tried to look anywhere but each other. “Come on, I’ll show you the bed,” Crowley said, dodging around the empty bottles.

 

“I know where it is. Where are you sleeping?” Francis said, looking at his hands.

“I don’t. _We_ don’t,” Crowley said simply.

“Nonsense. You need sleep,” Francis replied, looking pointedly at Crowley. Crowley could tell there was no way to win this one.

 

“Well, I’ll sleep- down here.”

“There aren’t any beds down here. The one upstairs is the only one.”

“So?”

“So, you’re not sleeping in a chair.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not comfortable. And it’s not nice for me to hog the bed.” Francis crossed his arms and Crowley looked down.

 

“So what are you suggesting?”

“We should share it. Really, I don’t mind,” Francis got out of his chair and started towards the staircase.

 

 

X

 

 

Soon enough they were both in the king sized bed, Crowley trying very hard not think about what this bed had been used for and with who. But he was perfectly content to stare at the ceiling and let his mind wander. Was he ever going to get Aziraphale back? Properly back? He knew that he should be grateful he got to see him one last time, but it wasn’t really him, now was it?

 

What seemed like a few minutes later was a few hours and when next Crowley looked over, he could tell from Francis’ even, soft breathing that he was fast asleep. Crowley let out a sigh and snuggled into the covers. Francis rolled over and slung an arm around Crowley, pulling him close in his sleep. Crowley’s breath caught and he tried not to squirm.

 

Even though it wasn’t Aziraphale, he still looked like Aziraphale and felt like Aziraphale and even smelled like Aziraphale. But he was dead asleep and he didn’t know what he was doing so Crowley leaned into the embrace and let himself pretend for a little while that it was Az.

 

 

X

 

 

When Crowley opened his eyes again, it was morning and he was nose to nose with his Not-Angel. Francis must have been stirring just before and woken Crowley up because a second later his blue eyes slowly flicked open and widened. They looked at each other for a split second and then Francis pushed away, rolling to the edge of the bed.

 

“Sorry,” Crowley said, stretching as far as he could to relieve the tension in his limbs. He knew it wasn’t his fault but he didn’t want to push “Francis” away.

 

“W-when I said you could sleep in the bed with me, I- I didn’t mean-- I-- I’m not him,” Francis went from rant voice to a softness barely above a mumble.

 

“It wasn’t me.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t me. A few hours after you fell asleep you rolled over and snuggled up to me. There was nothing I could do and you needed your sleep so I just let you be,” Crowley said without missing a beat. The sunlight streaming in the window was soft and silvery gold falling across the bed. Crowley got up like he’d never been asleep (as angels and demons can both safely do) and left the room. He’d spent 8 glorious hours curled up in Not-Aziraphale’s arms and now he needed space because it hurt too much.

 

Maybe he could figure this out. Live here with Not-Aziraphale and deal with half the pain instead of all of it. Maybe he could even convince him to stay…

 

_no._

 

If he was going to stay “Francis”, Crowley would have to let him go. He wouldn’t trap him like a wounded bird under a cat’s paw. He could never do that to anyone who used to be the love of his life.

 

Francis emerged into the shop with cutest bed-head imaginable. Crowley was suddenly reminded of the 6,000 years of pining and looked down. “So what are we going to try today?”

 

“What?” Crowley was caught totally off guard, which was unusual for him.

“More spells? Potions? Bargaining with goblins? How are we going to try and fix my head today?” Crowley stared.

 

“Fix… your head?”

“Yes. Isn’t that what we’ve been trying to do this whole time?” Francis looked at him imploringly. Crowley was speechless.

 

“You actually want to?”  
“Well… yes.”

“Why?” Crowley knew he shouldn’t look a gift angel in the mouth but he couldn’t help himself. Francis took a moment to gather his thoughts.

 

“If what you say is true, I’ve been some other person for 6,000 years. Longer, even, before the Earth.” Crowley nodded. “I’ve seen the way you look at him-- at me. At us. If he-- if _I_ felt that way about you… I’d quite like to feel that way again. And… if I didn’t… If I just went back to being me, I’ll always wonder. Because I remember how I felt about you,” Francis looked at Crowley for the first time since he’d started talking. Crowley was as still as a statue and listening very very hard.

 

“And I’d like to feel that way again, if possible. Or at least resolve-” he waved his hand around, “-this.”

 

Crowley inhaled sharply and said, “Right.”

 

The silence was so heavy they could hear the dust particles floating through the shop.

 

“Well, the American woman is doing… some… things,” Crowley said, scratching his temple idly, “So we can try something else. Come with me.” Crowley turned up the staircase and led him to Aziraphale’s workshop where all his favorites were, especially his books of prophecy. Crowley told him about each one and let him flip through them (carefully-- Francis dove at them like they were everyday paperbacks but Crowley made him put on the soft gloves because if they were able to get Aziraphale back and he found out that someone had touched his oldest books with their bare hands, he’d be livid).

 

“Anything?” Crowley looked at him hopefully.

“Nothing,” Francis said, closing the last book.

 

Next stop was the kitchen. Crowley grabbed one of Az’s angel wing mugs from the cabinet and held it out to him. Francis turned it over carefully in his hands and looked at it. “I’m getting a name… Michelangelo? Like the artist,” Francis said pensively. Crowley chuckled.

 

“Good old Mike. He was mid- Sistine Chapel at the point and I tempted him to stop and sculpt for a few weeks for a special present for Aziraphale. After the fact, I got to tell Hell I tempted Michelangelo the great, so it was a win win,” Crowley eyed the mug fondly.

 

“I remember drinking cocoa out of it but not much else.”

 

“Let’s keep going then, I have one more trick up my sleeve.”

 

The two of them crossed the landing to the spare bedroom where they’d woken up and Crowley flopped down on the bed. Francis, however, stood frozen in the doorway. “Ang- Francis? What’s up?” Crowley caught himself. Francis was blushing _exceptionally_ hard and Crowley added up the numbers.

 

“Ah, yeah.”

“D-Did we-”

“Yup.”

 

Francis’ voice was coming out all high-pitched and tripping.

 

“O-oh. Hmm. Did I-”

“Yes you did,” Crowley’s voice, on the other hand, was velvety soft and sweet, like bitter dark chocolate.

“Ooh, oh, well did you-”  
“I most certainly did.”

Francis made a few incomprehensible noises and walked away from the room for a second. Crowley wondered if he’d ever get that stain out of his face. When he came back, he seemed to have realized something and was blushing harder, if that were at all possible.

 

“You don’t- you weren’t going to- we can’t, I mean- we _just,”_ Francis stammered. Crowley stared at a moment before figuring out and hoping off the bed like it was made of lava.

 

“No, no, no, certainly not, that’s not _at all_ what I-- let’s go downstairs,” Crowley said quickly, brushing past Francis and hurrying downstairs. When Francis found his way to where Crowley had disappeared to, he was surprised to find a table spread out with sushi, crepes, and several different types of alcohol.

 

“This is what it was meant to be. I dunno why I, uh, went to the bedroom but I had thought-- never mind what I thought, eat. These are all your favorites. His favorites. I thought maybe--” Crowley’s voice dropped out.

 

“Yes, well, let’s get to it then.”


	17. That Was Your Idea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? What have y'all heathens done to deserve this?????/   
> anyway more ANGST and SEXUAL TENSION plus some KISSING so enjoy

“Hmmph-- wull, that’s excellent. But I’m not getting anythi- wait, wait. Erm….Nope, nothing,” Francis said around a mouthful of cake. Crowley quirked his mouth in a way that said “disappointed but not surprised” and drained his wine glass.

 

“Well… what next, Crowley?” Crowley tried not to let on about the feeling he got when the Not-Angel said his name. Even if it wasn’t Aziraphale…

 

“Uhh… I guess there’s only one thing left to try.” Crowley said, quite serious in the way he said it. Francis blushed anyway.

 

“We are not trying _that_.”  
“You said it, not me,” Crowley replied, doing his very best to keep a rowdy smirk off his face. “But no, that’s what I had in mind. Come here for me.” he said, gesturing to Francis. Francis drug his chair over in front of Crowley and sat down. “Lean in,” Crowley said, sitting forward. Francis did so tentatively. Crowley put his hands on Francis’ temples and closed his eyes.

 

“What’s happening?” Francis’ voice was getting a little high again.

“Shh, angel,” murmured Crowley. He would need to focus very very hard if this was going to work. It was time again for Crowley to use his Imagination, the same way he’d done to keep the Bentley together on the M25. All he had to do was imagine that Aziraphale was _Aziraphale_ again and that everything was back to the way it was before he’d been taken, wings and all. He just had to concentrate really, really _hard…_

 

Francis gasped under his fingers but Crowley didn’t dare stop or open his eyes. The demon didn’t know how long he was sat there, fingers to Soon-To-Be-Aziraphale’s temples, thinking really hard. Eventually he felt it was time and opened his eyes. “The Vessel” (as Crowley termed it until he could figure out if it had worked) was dressed like Aziraphale in his cream suit and suede waistcoat.

 

“Aziraphale?”

“No.”

“Fuck. Let me try again.” But Crowley didn’t get a chance to try again.

 

 

X

 

 

When Crowley next awakened, he was back in the bed in the spare room and Francis was sitting by his side, watching him. “Aziraphale?”

 

“Afraid not.”

“What happened?”

 

Francis sat forward in his chair and looked hard into Crowley’s eyes. “What are you doing?” Crowley said, blinking at him.

 

“Making sure your eyes have stopped.”

“Stopped what?”

“Bleeding.”

“ _What?_ ” Crowley snapped. Francis gestured to his feet; there was what looked like a box worth of tissues crumpled and bloody all around, forming tiny mountains. Crowley only now realized his sunglasses were off.

 

“What _happened_?” Crowley frowned.

“Well, you were doing your thinking thing and then you passed out and fell into my lap.” Francis tried to play this part off as casual but his blush betrayed him. “And then your eyes started bleeding. What does that mean?” Crowley shook his head and ran his slender fingers through his hair.

 

“I dunno. But we need to try again.”

“No, Crowley. No.”

“Why not?”

“Because last time you didn’t end up in the best condition.”

 

“That doesn’t matter, angel.” Crowley was doing his best to keep from using the pet name until he actually got the angel back but he couldn’t help it.

 

“Yes it does,” Francis said firmly. There was a beat, and then:

 

“I think I have an idea, though.”

 

 

X

 

 

“Just tell me what it is already.”

“ _No.”_

Crowley sighed.

“I’m not even sure if I can actually do it, just-- sit here, on the bed.” Francis patted the soft white comforter. Crowley did as he was told. “And close your eyes. _No_ peeking.” Crowley did so. Francis climbed onto the bed in front of him and studied the demon’s face. He didn’t _look_ much like a demon. Not even the eyes convinced him. Crowley just couldn’t be evil enough to make the cut. Francis noted the way the light played off his sharp cheekbones and brought out the dark cherry color of his hair. Taking an unsteady breath, Francis leaned forward and pressed his lips to Crowley’s.

 

Crowley let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and let it happen but didn’t react in any other way. He was enjoying this but he knew that it wasn’t really Az and he didn’t want to scare off Francis. It was the mortal’s experiment and he wouldn’t participate unless he was told to. Of course, he had just finished thinking that when Francis moved his hands to the sides of Crowley’s face and pulled him closer.

 

And then all too quickly Francis broke away. Francis was a little uncomfortable to see how dazed Crowley was. The demon looked back up at him sleepily as though he’d just woken from a thousand year sleep, but nothing had changed. He was still… just Francis. Oh well. It had been worth a shot, and Francis had wanted a little payback from the bandstand incident anyway. “That-- that was your… uh… _idea_?” Crowley said, his voice low and soft.

 

“Yeah,” Francis looked down at his hands.

“Shame it didn’t work,” Crowley mumbled.

“Mm.”

Crowley made to get up but Francis put a hand against his chest. Crowley looked down and then up. “What?”

They looked at each other for a moment, Francis trying to communicate something with his eyes and Crowley remaining totally oblivious.

“Well-”  
“Well, what?”

“I mean, maybe we _should_ -”

“Should _what_?”

“Just-- kissing you does seem to make the memories stronger, maybe we _ought to-”_

“No.” It wasn’t a sharp syllable or anything that had a warning to it; it was soft, with no force behind it. Something that could easily be broken if pushed against. But Francis didn’t take the bait. His hand dropped to his lap and he sat back on the bed. Crowley felt like sleeping again.

 

 

X

 

 

It seemed like an eternity before Anathema returned with a few completely potions. The two had had to entertain themselves until she got back. Not only had she had to acquire special ingredients like herbs and charged water, but she’d had to pray, chant, mix, strain, boil, freeze, and do a number of other things to the different potions to ensure they worked.

 

“Three? You were gone all day and you only have _three_?” Crowley snapped at her.

“Three perfectly made memory potions,” she snapped right back. Anathema, for one, didn’t take any bullshit from anybody. But if these didn’t work, she wasn’t sure where to go next.

 

Francis grabbed the first one without hesitation and downed it. His nose crinkled. “I rather think I’ve actually forgotten some things.” The second one had no discernible effect, and if a supernatural entity hadn’t been nearby with convenient materialization powers, the floor may have ended up with a fresh coat of vomit.

 

Crowley looked at Francis (who was still green) and then Anathema and said, “Sorry. I can’t-” before turning and running out of the shop.


	18. Heaven is a Place on Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg it's finally here  
> I needed an extra day to work out exactly what was going to go down because this is the boss battle folks. Sorry bout that.
> 
> Just one or two more chapters ahead, probably light domestic fluff and that kind of shit. People working out their feelings. And then that's it. lmao.

As soon as Crowley got back to his flat, he warded the place. He’d never needed to before because he’d just use his snake-face trick to get rid of unwitting humans, but Francis… Despite the obvious reluctance to believe in any of the things Crowley had told him, he wasn’t ever _frightened_ of Crowley, or if he was, he didn’t show it. Even Francis, who was only Aziraphale-parallel saw straight through Crowley, saw something he couldn’t see.

 

But he couldn’t let Francis see them fail again, because Crowley would crumple into a pile of disappointment and regret and hatred and Francis would be there, kind and sweet and looking too much like Aziraphale and Crowley wouldn’t be able to _stand_ it.

 

As soon as his wards were all up and he was sure he was safe from everything and everyone, he let himself break. It started with his back against the door, sunglasses hiding his teary eyes, his distress barely discernible aside from the wetness on his cheeks. And then he slid down to the floor, pulling his knees against his chest and sobbing. Deep, rib-racking coughing and groaning and sniffling and swiping at fresh-forming tears. This was harder than Crowley had ever cried, even after pining over Aziraphale for so long.

 

_This is it. This is the part of Hell demons don’t get to see. The part where they torture human souls._

 

But Crowley wasn’t a human soul. Hell definitely wanted to punish him but why they thought to do it this way…

 

There was a knock on the door Crowley was currently leaned against and he jumped. “Crowley? Are you quite all right in there? You ran out in a hurry.” How in the _fuck_ -

 

What was it with people asking if you’re all right when people run off to cry, anyway? Crowley was sure his side wasn’t responsible for it so it must have been some of that angelic compassion shit. Bleh. “Seriously, Crowley, I-” Francis trailed off. A sigh. “Please let me in.” Crowley _really_ didn’t want to but he scrambled to his feet and wrenched the knob around, swinging the door open. Francis had been standing right against the door, it seemed, and he almost fell in when the door jerked open. Francis’ face fell at the sight of the disheveled demon.

 

“Oh, you poor thing.” Francis stepped inside and shut the door behind him and then took Crowley in his arms. And Crowley sobbed. Francis didn’t even bother with the modern sofa, navigating them instead to the back of the flat where Crowley’s bed was. As soon as Francis sat down on the edge of the bed, Crowley curled around him as closely and tightly as he could and held on for dear life. Francis ended up with Crowley’s head right underneath his, so he just stroked his hair and shushed him softly. They stayed like that for a while until Crowley felt safe enough to look up into Francis’ eyes without breaking out into a whole new set of tears.

 

“I know where we need to go.”

 

 

X

 

 

It was the next day and Crowley had locked his feelings in a steel vault until they would be through with the plan. Francis had stayed over and petted Crowley until he fell asleep but we woke up ready to start a war.

 

“You’re sure this will work?” Francis said.

“Not a bit,” Crowley returned.

Crowley, Francis, and Anathema all stepped onto the escalator to Heaven. Anathema had a bundle of papers under an arm and Crowley had a few pouches of Hellfire secreted away in his clothes. When they got to Heaven’s front desk, the angelic secretary waved them through.

 

“T-That’s not good, is it?” Francis whispered to the other two.

“No,” they said back in unison, Anathema not knowing for certain but most definitely having a nasty feeling about it all. The trio stepped into an Inter-Heaven Transporter (Heavenly elevator in mortal terms) and it took them all the way to the top. When they stepped out, Gabriel, who had his back to them, turned around and gaped at them.

 

“H-how did you-”

“Luck of the devil, I guessssss,” Crowley hissed back. “Now. I’d like one angel returned to me, new in box.”

 

Gabriel scoffed. “I don’t think so. This is his punishment, Heaven’s will. _God’s_ will.” Francis stepped forward, away from Crowley’s shoulder, for the first time since arriving in Heaven.

 

“James? So it is true? All of it? You were _sending_ me to _Africa_ to keep me away from him?” Francis said, gesturing at Crowley. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

 

“Even as an angel you could never follow orders. You had to question _everything_ and make everything harder on yourself, didn’t you?” Gabriel growled.

 

“Give him _back_ ,” Crowley snarled.

“No.”

 

“We have a trade for you,” Anathema held out the bundle of papers for Gabriel to inspect. They _appeared_ to be the second volume of Agnes Nutter prophecies. What they really were (underneath Anathema’s glamor) was a lovely flip-book of Crowley flipping the bird.

 

“What exactly is that?” Gabriel said, trying to play off any interest he might have had.

“Agnes Nutter, book two. I bet you’d _really_ like to know what she thinks of you,” Anathema said. Gabriel’s purple eyes did admittedly glaze over a little staring at the bundle of papers, but he snapped back a second later.

 

“No thank you,” he said rather unconvincingly.

Crowley mentally cracked his Tempting knuckles. “No, it’s not like you’d need it. Apocalypse having _not happened_ and all _thanks to us_. It’s not like she could’ve predicted that beforehand. Like you could’ve known and _stopped_ us. I mean, that’s just bonkers. I guess we’ll be the only ones with the key to restarting the Apocalypse with another child…,” Crowley started turning to leave, a smirk crawling across his face as soon as it was out of view. That was some high level tempting; his very best work.

 

“Wait,” Gabriel said and Crowley’s eyes sparkled devilishly. Crowley put a controlled grimace on his face and turned back to the angel. “Fine. We’ll take it. That’s so much more important than one silly principality,” he said, shrugging, eyeing the book hungrily. Gabriel reached his hands out for the book but Crowley shook his head.

 

“No. Him first.” Crowley said darkly. Gabriel rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket to produce a small vial of blue liquid. He threw it at Crowley, who caught it without really looking, and handed it to Francis. Francis unscrewed the lid and gulped it down easily. There was a flash of blue light and Francis keeled over, hands on his knees.

 

Crowley dove forward to catch him and narrowly missed being hit in the face by Aziraphale’s wings. Aziraphale straightened up and looked at Crowley, his eyes filled with emotion. “Aziraphale?” Crowley said, not really sure he was ready to believe the love of his life was actually back.

 

“Quite.”

Crowley felt like a thousand pound weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Crowley glanced at Anathema and she confirmed he was showing up on angel radar again. He let out a short sigh of relief and looked up when Gabriel cleared his throat impatiently. “The book?” he said, his hand still held out towards them. Anathema took a few steps forward and handed it to him. He snatched it away from her and flipped through it to make sure it was a book of prophecies. By all accounts, he bought it.

 

“Don’t think you’ve won. Don’t think that we won’t be back to punish him again. And don’t think that your side has forgotten you, Crowley,” Gabriel said, his eyes glued to the first page of the bundle. The three turned to depart and Crowley snapped his fingers. Gabriel was instantaneously drenched with cold water. He sputtered but didn’t say anything else, more focused on keeping the prophecies dry until he could miracle himself back to normal.

 

“Lousy bugger,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“That’s more than you’ve cursed in a long long time,” Crowley replied evenly. He was shaking at the prospect of the angel actually being back and right beside him and _safe_ and it was he could do not to wrap himself around Az and not move anymore.

“Ah, well-- I said something colorful when I was discorporated, you just missed it.”

 

Since Anathema was surging ahead of them, eager to get out of Heaven, the angel and the demon linked hands.


	19. My Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I NEED TO know
> 
> Should I continue this fic? This is where it was originally going to end but I have kind of an idea of where to go from here and I *can* continue but should I? Do you prefer this ending (and I start something else) or continue this? More angst, more fluff, more torture-- all of it.
> 
> Edit: sorry y'all it's been a long fucking day lmaoooo. Today was day 5 of 6 in a row at work and I'm not all here atm, woops. It was either my fault or the computers fault but the chapter issue has been resolved, RIP. it's super short but it's fluff? It's all I've had the energy for. woops. Anyway, thank you to everyone for your kind comments, I'll have to see where we end up :)

They all returned to the bookshop fairly quickly, Anathema packing her things and trying to go as quickly as possible (mainly because she knew what was going to happen next-- it wasn’t something prophesied but you didn’t need a prophesy to guess). “Call me if one of you disappears again. We can’t let that happen anymore,” she said, carrying her bag out the door and sliding into the cab she’d called.

 

The angel and the demon waved goodbye as it pulled away from the curb and retreated inside. “I believe we have some things we need to-” Az had started to say but was cut off by Crowley’s mouth on his. He accepted the unexpected kiss greedily, letting Crowley turn him and pin him to the door they had just shut. They pulled back after much longer than any humans could have lasted and looked each other in the eye. “Hi,” Crowley said breathlessly.

 

“Hullo,” Az replied in much the same state.

 

“Talk. We must. Gotta. Sit,” Aziraphale managed. Crowley nodded, very hesitant to pull away from the angel. They retreated to the sitting room in the back and sat down.

 

“Crowley, dear boy, why didn’t you _tell me_ you kept scrapbooks?” Aziraphale said, pointing at them. They were still out of their secret compartment, sitting open after having been searched for any way to cure him.

 

“Because! I didn’t want you to think I was in love with you or something,” Crowley said grumpily. He was rather unhappy that the man himself had seen the three scrapbooks mostly dedicated to him. Aziraphale inspected the still open secret compartment with interest.

 

“I’ve never known this was here,” he said, looking round at the demon. Crowley crossed his arms like a moody toddler.

 

“Tempted the architect, didn’t I? Had to have somewhere safe to put them. I don’t like my flat,” he grumbled. Aziraphale smiled with all the fondness in the world.

 

“No wonder he was always so sour,” Aziraphale teased. Crowley looked properly put out at that, so he added, “Must have been me he didn’t like.”

 

When Az found Crowley’s eyes again, they were shining (his sunglasses had slid down to his nose with the pouting). “Dear boy, what is it?” he said in worry, moving over to Crowley’s chair the same way he’d done the night they’d confessed to each other.

 

“I thought I wasn’t gonna get you back.” Crowley sniffled. Az softened (if that’s even possible) and took Crowley in his arms, holding him close as Crowley breathed him in.

 

“Hush, my darling. Talking such nonsense. I’ll never leave you. Even Francis was starting to love you-- another few days and you would have swept him off his feet the way you swept me off mine.”

 

“Y-You really t-t-think so?” Crowley mumbled into Az’s wasitcoat.

“Darling, I _know_ so,” he replied, stroking Crowley’s hair.

 

“But-” Aziraphale pulled back to look in Crowley’s eyes, “-if I do go missing again, don’t you _dare_ use the holy water on yourself.” Crowley opened his mouth to say something but Aziraphale covered it with his hand. “I know you were considering it. Please, don’t _ever_ do that to yourself.” The tension dropped from Crowley’s shoulders and he nodded in compliance. Aziraphale dropped his hand from Crowley’s mouth and kissed him sweetly to punctuate his point. Crowley enjoyed the sweet taste of his mouth, that forcefield of love that was purely Aziraphale. He breathed it in like a burn victim on oxygen.

 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Aziraphale whispered. He was giving Crowley his best bedroom eyes and hoping that it translated.

 

“Yes, I do, but not for _that_ , angel. We can spend all day tomorrow doing that. Tonight I just want to hold you.” So the two went upstairs and laid under the sheets together, Crowley wrapping his arms tightly around his angel and kissing every inch of him. He started at an ear and worked down Az’s neck to where his shoulder joined and down his arm and so on. These weren’t lustful kisses as Crowley was so good at bestowing; they were thankful, grateful kisses. Kisses that said “I don’t ever want to let you go”.

 

Eventually Aziraphale rolled over so he was facing Crowley and buried his nose into Crowley’s chest, his hair tickling Crowley’s chin. Crowley settled for planting kisses on his forehead, temples, and in his hair. “My angel,” Crowley rumbled against him. They drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, coiled so tightly around the other they had trouble moving the next day.

 

 


	20. THIS ISN'T A CHAPTER DON'T FREAK OUT

Hey guys, this is NOT  a chapter (sorry to tease you the way I did) but there were a few things I wanted to say. 

 

First of all, it was just about 50/50 with the "leave the story where it is/ continue the story" debate so I've decided to leave it (as this is where I planned to leave it in the first place and the idea of where to go next is hazy at best. 

Second of all, don't freak out! I have been working with someone a very short time in co-writing a fic and the things we're going to do to them makes ME cringe and squeal. So! Keep your eye out for  _that_. We'll be working on it whenever we can, but since it's two of us please don't expect a day to day update as we both want to make sure we're both happy with every aspect. 

 

IN THE MEANTIME

I would be happy to do some requests, write some oneshot prompts yall want to throw at me or just go and find something to produce for you guys. PLEASE tell me what you'd like to see and I'll see if I can make it happen.

 

Lastly and most importantly, 

Thank you. Thank you so much for all the kind words and feedback. I've been going through some seriously bad shit recently and you guys don't know how much you turn my day around. So thank you. And I love y'all. See you soon, dears.

 

EDIT: I'VE CHANGED MY MIND AND I'M WRITING MORE WOOPS

next chapter y'all are getting is smut but it wont be ready until sometime tonight because I can't write about Aziraphale's prick in the break room of my job

but it's almost ready and spoilers: it includes wing grooming 


	21. I'm Going to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to Hell, hopefully Crowley will be there and y'all enjoy this
> 
> Here you go HEATHENS

When Aziraphale woke up, the sun hadn’t yet risen. He could barely make out the silhouette in the dark that was Crowley, but the demon was wriggling around beside him. He was tossing and turning and talking in his sleep-- most of it was muttering the word “no” over and over again but Aziraphale couldn’t make out the rest. His movement were becoming more frantic and his muttering louder. “Crowley?” he said worriedly.

 

Crowley bolted up in bed, looking around blearily. “Aziraphale? Aziraphale??” he said, trying to blink away the haze of nightmare from his eyes.

 

“I’m right here, dear,” Az reassured, putting a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley was extra glad that Az couldn’t see in the dark like he could; he subtlely wiped the tears that had spilled over. Crowley shook his head and burrowed back under the covers with his angel, Aziraphale carding his fingers through the demon’s hair and shushing him back to sleep. They got up again only a few hours later (Angels and demons either slept for a very short time or a very long time. We are fortunate it wasn’t a month or two of sleep.) and made hot tea. It was raining outside and it felt perfectly all right for the two to stay in.

 

Crowley wanted to get some wing grooming in anyway-- he hadn’t been able to do it the past month or two and he was dying to get his hands on them. Aziraphale disappeared quickly after breakfast (consisting only of tea) to tend to his shop, so Crowley thought it would be the perfect time. The demon set up shop on the bed above the bookshop and let his wings out. A few dead feathers fell out at the motion and Crowley flexed.

 

“What are you doing, darling?” Aziraphale said from the doorway. He looked mildly interested. Crowley blinked at him.

 

“My wings need grooming and I thought you were busy,” Crowley said, his wings drooping a little. He wasn’t embarrassed of them per-se, this was just a vulnerable position to be in and he’d been startled.

 

“Darling, I told you over breakfast I wasn’t going to open today with the rain,” Aziraphale said, coming into the room and climbing up on the bed behind Crowley. “I can help you. You just have to teach me how.”

 

“What, you mean you’ve never done this before?” Crowley said, looking over his shoulder.

“No.”

Crowley shivered at the thought of leaving his wings unattended for 6,000 years. It practically made his skin crawl.

 

“I’ve never seen the use, really,” Azi said quietly, sinking down onto his knees and balancing by holding Crowley’s shoulders. There was a ridge of scales that ran down his spine, and Az ran a finger down it ever so gently-

 

“Hey! What are you doing back there?” Crowley squirmed and his feathers ruffled.

“Sorry, nothing. Nothing. I’ve just never noticed these before,” Az said. Crowley didn’t say anything else but he seemed to relax a little bit. Crowley yanked at a dead feather from his left primaries and showed it to Aziraphale, explaining how to identify others. And then they set to work.

 

Aziraphale ran his hands down the tops of Crowley’s wings before getting started, feeling the softness of the healthy feathers. Crowley shivered again but didn’t complain, so he didn’t stop. There were quite a few dead feathers at the top of his wings just between his shoulders (the hardest place to reach) so Aziraphale started there. Crowley had been leaning away from him at the start but as he plucked, the demon started leaning backwards, his back brushing Az’s chest. Aziraphale laid a kiss on Crowley’s shoulder as he pulled another feather and Crowley’s wings rippled.

 

“Angel?”

“Yes?”  
“You really shouldn’t start things you aren’t willing to finish.”

“I have no idea what you mean, dear boy.”

 

But as he worked his way down Crowley’s wings, so did his kisses. Aziraphale had only gotten about halfway down Crowley’s scaled spine before the demon turned around and caught the next kiss on his mouth. As he completely rotated to face the angel, his crow black wings drew in around them like a curtain and hugged Aziraphale close to him as they kissed. Az ran his hands up Crowley’s bare chest and cupped his face as he pulled himself onto Crowley’s lap.

 

“I missed you,” Crowley hissed against Aziraphale. Az nipped at the soft flesh of Crowley’s neck and he looked up in surprise. “Oh, angel,” he said as though Az were a soft little puppy that had just taken a bite out of someone. Crowley ran his hands up under Aziraphale’s waistcoat and enjoyed the feeling of how hot his skin was under there.

 

“You know, even when I was Francis, I wanted you,” Aziraphale growled uncharacteristically. Crowley was just going to keep being surprised. “I remember thinking about the dreams of you and thinking about what I’d do if I got my hands on you,” Az mumbled against Crowley’s mouth. Crowley ripped off the waistcoat, the buttons scattering onto the mattress beneath them and the floor below. He ran raked fingers down Az’s chest and Az moaned. When Crowley found sense again a moment later, he froze, watching Az. 10 tracks of blood ran down Aziraphale's stomach; he had been a little rougher than he meant to be.

 

“Az, I’m-”

“ _Bloody well shut up,”_ Az said, putting a hand over his mouth and spitting his own words back at him. Crowley nodded obligingly and ducked down to lap at the ruby blood; that only made Az moan beneath him.

 

“Hello then,” Crowley said as he noticed Az’s dick perk up. Aziraphale couldn’t stifle a giggle but he blushed a bit when Crowley looked at him rather pointedly. Crowley unfurled his wings again and pinned Aziraphale down on the bed. He held Az’s wrists against the mattress while he explored Aziraphale’s mouth with his snake-like tongue. But within an instant (and even Aziraphale isn’t sure how he did this) Crowley was the one pinned against the bed and Az was straddling him.

 

Aziraphale sat back for a moment and admired the demon. “Do you know how beautiful you look lying there like that? The things I want to do to you… pure _evil_ ,” he said hungrily, yanking at Crowley’s trousers. Az slid down and put his mouth around Crowley’s prick, wrapping his lips around the head and poking at it with his tongue. Crowley whined and bucked under him, reaching down with one hand to pull on his hair. Az pulled the whole cock into his mouth until it was slick with his spit and then he pulled himself up and slid down onto Crowley. Both of them exhaled raggedly, Crowley shaking a little from the sheer pleasure of it.

 

Crowley reached up and put his hands on Az’s hips, which had just started to rock. “Throughout the centuries,” he said, moving up and down now, “I’d always wanted you to just… pin me against a wall and take me. Take me like the _demon_ you are. But every once in a while, I’d dream up something like this,” he chuckled, “and I always liked those dreams better.”

 

“You talk too much,” Crowley complained. He moved one of his hands from Az’s hip up to stroke his dick. Az closed his eyes and bit his lip in concentration. Aziraphale dug his nails into Crowley’s bony hips, earning him a moan of approval from the demon. “You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You make me feel _so_ good,” Az ground out. Both of them were panting now.

 

“Angelllll, please go faster,” Crowley whined, thrusting as desperately as he could against Az. Crowley continued to work on Az’s dick, which was making him even hotter. Aziraphale obliged and moved a different direction, just so, and Crowley cried out as the orgasm crashed into him, clinging onto Az’s hips for dear life. Aziraphale came a few seconds later, yelling out Crowley’s name, and then they collapsed on each other.

 

Aziraphale miracled away the mess and they laid next to each other, panting and trying to work through the aftermath of the orgasms.


	22. CROWLEY!!! (and not in the good way)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks around nervously*
> 
> H-hi guys. I-I know it's been a while, but r-really you don't have to point those g-guns at me, I-I'm sorry.
> 
> Just kidding. That was a joke. It feels like I've left y'all hanging and haven't updated in forever, RIP. I just wrote a Yuletide fluff piece for our babies this morning so if you haven't, go ahead and check that out! I'm rather proud of it! And then I've been hard at work on the fic I'm consulting on and if you thought this one with gut-wrenching, just you wait! We've still got a lot of work to do on it, but it's definitely going to be worth the wait!!!
> 
> Anyhow, I also had some trouble coming up with a plot for where to go but now I've got something good! A little more fluff and then someone is going to get badly hurt ;)
> 
> PS I know this is a short one but I've been really busy today :( and at least I've got something out- I'd feel bad otherwise. Hope y'all enjoy!

 

It took Gabriel a considerable amount of time to spot the problem with the book of prophecies he’d given Aziraphale up for. The first three pages of prophecies were fairly accurate but fairly small, such as:

 

20038: It will rain something awful on Wednesday the 20th of the year 2019.

 

But the first one on the fourth page made Gabriel blink in confusion and then freeze.

 

20051: Archangel Gabriel is an enormous winged prick.

 

As Gabriel flipped through the remainder of the pages, they became what they had been the whole time; the bird flipping flipbook. Gabriel roared in anger and threw the pages into the air. They had burned to ash before they touched the floor.

 

“CROWLEY!”

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley woke up beside his angel and traced his jaw with a thumb, golden yellow eyes tracing his features and trying to hold the picture in his head forever. Aziraphale didn’t open his eyes but ducked his head and smiled. “That tickles, dear boy,” Az mumbled.

 

“Does this?” Crowley whispered as he leaned over and kissed Azira’s jaw, running from below his mouth up to his ear.

 

“Decidedly so.”

 

“So what are we going to do today, angel?” Aziraphale considered the question for a moment.

“Well, how about the Ritz?”

“Sounds just lovely.”

 

 

So the angel and the demon got out of bed (reluctantly on Crowley’s part-- he could have laid there for the better part of a year) and got dressed to go out.

 

“I guess this will be our first official date,” Aziraphale said nervously, shrugging on his coat. Crowley smirked.

 

“I guess it will.”

“Well then you _have_ to eat something. Just a slice of cake.”

“Only for you, angel.” Crowley said, sliding his sunglasses on.

 

Aziraphale smiled fondly at Crowley and smoothed his coat. Half an hour later they had taken up at their usual table to a very confused looking Charlie. “Mr. Fell?”

 

“Hullo, Charlie, how are you tonight?” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

“I see you found him then,” Charlie said, still quite confused.

“I did! Thank you for all your help, Charlie.” Az smiled at him. Crowley glanced between them, trying to figure out what had happened. Charlie took their order and walked away and Crowley settled on Az.

 

“What was that?” he said.

“Charlie’s the one who helped Francis find you.” Azira said fondly, eyeing the love of his life.

“Is that so?” Crowley said, watching Charlie wait on another table. Unbeknownst to all but Crowley, Charlie would later return home to find a small fortune sitting in the middle of his cramped living room. But for now, they were just an angel and a demon dining at the Ritz. Their plates arrived rather quickly as they had both gotten only slices of cake.

 

Aziraphale had a lovely slice of Devil’s Food Cake (his favorite temptation) and Crowley had decided on trying the Angel Food Cake (completely by chance, of course). Crowley forked a small bite into his mouth and smirked. It tasted exactly as he’d expected-- Heavenly. “Here, angel, you want some?” he said holding out his fork.

 

“Oh, no, I’m really-” Aziraphale started but when he saw the look in his lover’s eyes, he said, “Yes, please.” They finished their cake relatively quickly but lingered at the table to talk in low, teasing voices before heading back to the bookshop for the night.

 

X

 

Gabriel watched from a distance as Crowley and Aziraphale laughed their way back into the bookshop, Crowley holding the door for his angel. It made Gabriel sick, thinking about it. He had truly thought making Aziraphale mortal would fix that, at least let him keep some of his dignity-- but he’d been wrong. No matter. Because not only did he have a plan, but this time he had friends to help.


	23. Oof

Crowley lifted his head off the mattress- was that?

 

He scrambled up as quickly as he could and ran to the landing to look-- it _was!_

 

Someone was yelling at Aziraphale. Someone. Yelling. Azira-- _breathe, Crowley._

 

He didn’t bother to curse himself some clothes; he practically used the stairs as a slide and dashed right up to the customer, completely nude, and said very very calmly, “You need to leave.” The customer’s tirade paused just enough to grace Crowley with a look of utter confusion and then distress, first at him being naked, and second at him dashing down here to tell him off, but then he turned back to Aziraphale and picked up again so Crowley flashed The Face that made him run screaming out of the shop.

 

“Really, dear,” Aziraphale snapped and Crowley was fully clothed. Crowley was still watching the door in agitation, just waiting for that simpleton to-

 

Aziraphale gave him a soft kiss and went back to working. “You really didn’t _have_ to do that, I had it handled.” Crowley stuttered in indignation and then remembered why exactly Aziraphale could handle people being very rude to him. It made Crowley very sad indeed. Crowley followed his angel back to the back room and put his hands on Azira’s shoulders, spinning him around to face him. “Angel, listen to me.” Crowley put his hands on Az’s cheeks, running his thumbs over the soft skin there. Yellow eyes locked with blue ones and Aziraphale could tell that whatever he was about to say would be fully serious.

 

“If someone is yelling at you or being mean to you, you _don’t have to take it_. You can shout back or miracle them away or _whatever._ Or at least come and get me. Because I won’t have _anyone_ shouting at you. You don’t _deserve_ that.”

 

“Crowley, really, darling, I’m-”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley said in such a way that was stern but not pushy. Coming from a place of love, not control.

“Yes, dear. I promise.” Crowley laid a gentle kiss on his forehead and without another word, he went upstairs to make them some tea.

 

 

X

 

 

When business was done for the day, Aziraphale closed the shop and found Crowley in a back room, completely hypnotized by a copy of Dracula. As he read, he was muttering things to himself much in the way of, “Damn it, Bram” and “Could have just asked me if I were a vampire”.

 

Aziraphale hid in the doorway watching him, a smile spreading across his face. But Crowley could sense the angel’s presence and looked up, shutting the book softly. “What is it, angel?”

 

“You’re _reading_ ,” Az said quietly, as though if Crowley really heard it he would never read again.

 

Crowley looked at him fondly and said, “Well, I mean-- I, erm… well-- found something I like, didn’t I?” it ended in sort of a mumble. “And-and- silly Bram,” he laughed nervously, “Bram- I knew Bram when he wrote this and I had promised him I’d read it and I never got around to it but I thought I would because he said he based- why are you laughing? Stop laughing!” But Aziraphale couldn’t stop. It was the hardest he’d laughed in a good while.

 

Crowley threw down the book and pulled himself out of the chair. In seconds he was standing just in front of Aziraphale with barely breathing room between them and he bracketed Az in with his arms, lowering his face close to Az’s. “If you don’t stop laughing,” (this bit would have been terrifying if Crowley wasn’t smiling, “I am going. To. Tickle. You.” Trying to hold it in just made Aziraphale laugh harder and Crowley made good on his promise, tickling Aziraphale with long fingers until they both tumbled to the ground, laughing.

 

 

“Y-y-you snake,” Aziraphale gasped out, rolling over to look at the demon. His sunglasses were askew just enough so that Az could see his yellowy eyes. “You’re going to _pay_ for that later,” Aziraphale giggled. Crowley climbed over him and looked down his nose so his sunglasses wouldn’t fall off.

 

“Will I now?”

“You will! I swear it!”

“Come up here and make me.” and so Aziraphale pulled himself up on his elbows to kiss Crowley, pulling the demon flush against him with one arm. Az removed his sunglasses and ran a hand through his red hair as Crowley gripped the back of Az’s neck. Both of them were getting a little… excited, so Aziraphale pulled back with much difficulty.

 

“Maybe we ought to wait until after dinner.”

“We’re going to dinner.”

“Yes, dear boy.”

“But why do we have to wait?”

“Because that makes it all the sweeter when it does happen.”

 

Crowley growled in frustration and rolled off Aziraphale, pulling his sunglasses back on hurriedly. “Wull, I guess if we _have_ to, let’s go ahead and go now so we can come back,” he pouted. Aziraphale chuckled and dusted himself off and the pair stepped outside to Crowley’s Bentley.

 

Aziraphale was looking over the car at Crowley, who had a wide smile of love across his face, and then time seemed to slow. All too suddenly, Gabriel was standing behind Crowley with a sword and-

 

“No!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> calm down, cALM DOWN THERE'S NO NEED FOR THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE
> 
> The boys will be back soon, probably again sometime today! everything is going to be all right (eventually. not now though. bad stuff is going to happen now). 
> 
> hugs and kisses


	24. Reprogramming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry all my chapters are so short but don't panic!!
> 
> Everything is going to be okay!

 

Gabe was behind Crowley and he was thrusting the sword and--

Crowley fell.

Gabe laughed and disappeared.

And then Aziraphale was by his side.

 

Crowley was laying on the sidewalk, bleeding everywhere and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started crying until Crowley told him to stop. He had to focus now, focus on Crowley’s voice-

 

“Angel, angel, _listen_ to me. Listen!” a cough, blood lining his mouth, “I’m just getting discorporated, it’s going to be fine, I’ll be back up in a jiff, but I need you to stay calm.” Aziraphale, still sobbing, on the verge of hyperventilating or screaming (God knew which), kicked open the door to the bookshop and dragged Crowley inside, tracking blood on the hardwood floors but he didn’t much care at the moment. Aziraphale fell to the floor and pulled the demon into his lap, still sobbing uncontrollably.

 

“Hey,” another cough, a wet sounding wheeze, “listen. It’s all right,” Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, smearing blood across his pale face. “Bodies are just vessels, remember? It’s all right. I’ll be back before you can say my name. I just need you to- to” he winced in pain, “-stay put, and I’ll be back, all right? Just stay safe. It’s going to be just you for a bit, and you can’t let them take you again. I dunno what I’d do if… if I got back and… and my angel wasn’t...here.” He was fading now, his movements becoming less controlled and heavier. “Shh, shhh, angel. I’m right here,” he murmured and then he was gone.

 

Aziraphale choked on another sob and sat there, sniffling and alone, holding onto the body Crowley had previously been occupying.

 

 

X

 

 

Getting discorporated is _not_ fun. There are reprimands and paper work and even though it only takes a few seconds to create another vessel to inhabit, the higher ups are stingy anyways because _why should it be their job?_ And _how did you destroy this one?_ And _they don’t last any time at all, do they?_ But nearly five seconds after Crowley returned to Hell, he had a form again, a body. As though it had been waiting for him when he arrived.

 

Crowley came to that exact conclusion when he had a chance to inspect his surroundings. Yes, he had a body, but it was sat on the floor and manacled to a wall in an extremely dirty room in a place that could only be Hell. Crowley knew this definitely couldn’t be good. A heavy duty door swung open and in stepped-

 

“Beelzebub? What’s going on? Hastur?” Crowley looked up at the two demons. Whoever had cursed the vessel into existence had had the decency to give him clothes but no sunglasses. Typical. He looked up at them and they only smiled darkly.

 

“We haven’t done this in years, have we, Hastur?” said Beelzebub, her eyes glued on Crowley.

“No, sir. Glad you finally took my advice,” Hastur replied, rubbing his hands together.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley muttered.

 

 

X

 

 

Once Aziraphale had pulled himself together enough to get off the floor and stop crying, he miracled a sheet into his hands and covered Crowley’s body with it, careful not to let any of him show through. He knew that Crowley had merely been discorporated; he’d known that from the start. But seeing Crowley die in front of him, no matter how real it was, hurt like _hell._ He tried to keep his eyes off of the offending sheet, but he stood by the door with a cup of cocoa and waited. And waited. Demons could jump into anyone, he’d have to be back soon, right? There shouldn’t be that much of a holdup in Hell?

 

 

X

 

_1 month later…_

 

 

Hastur and Beelzebub rose up through the Earth, cracking the pavement of the back alley they’d chosen to rise in. Between them, they carried Crowley, a broken mass of flesh and bone they hadn’t been able to fix. Of course, when the two demons decided to fix Crowley, that didn’t mean healing him.

 

They shoved the demon onto the ground where he lay for a good minute or two, trying to see through the pain.

 

“Shame your idea didn’t work, Hastur.”  
“Yes, lord, t’is. That doesn’t mean we’ve got to-”

“No, Hastur. It’s more _fun_ this way. Beeeesides, we can always try again another time. Grabbing him wasn’t difficult at all,” Beelzebub buzzed. Hastur nodded, still disappointed the torturing was over for now. He really didn’t like Crowley, and making him hurt brought Hastur pure joy.

 

The two demons sunk back down into the Earth, back to Hell, and Crowley was left laying on the pavement. After a few minutes to make sure this wasn’t one of their tricks, he got up as best he could and wandered out into the street. He had to find Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure why, but that’s where he had to go.

 

 

 


	25. Who Sent You?

Crowley found his way back to the bookshop easy enough-- he remembered where it was, after all. His memories hadn’t been affected by the little demonic experiment he’d been a part of. But when he got to it, he realized something was wrong. Nothing that really made him panic, just-- wrong. The lights were all out and the doors were shut tight. Crowley tried the knob-- locked. He used just a little bit of force and broke the lock, sauntering into the darkened bookshop. Everything seemed to be the way he left it-- just dark. He ran a hand over the counter to his left-- dusty. Very dusty. It was like no one had been here in a while.

 

Crowley closed the damaged door behind him and stepped into the shop proper. It all looked familiar, and he could remember things about it-- different memories hazed through his head but… he couldn’t _feel_ anything. There were no emotions there. Crowley started up the spiral staircase, searching for answers.

 

 

X

 

 

Crowley had been gone a grand total of 29 days and Aziraphale had been sleeping for 27 of them. The only times he got up were to use the loo (once) and once around day 20 when he thought he’d finally had enough sleep. He’d retreated to the familiar confines of the pillows and blankets when he realized how much it _hurt_ to be awake without Crowley. He told himself, “Just go to sleep and maybe things will be all right when you wake up. If anything, you won’t have to feel it. Crowley will make it back eventually.”

 

So when he awoke in the dark, mostly disoriented, he didn’t consider it was Crowley at all. More likely it was an angel or demon come to whisk him away while his lover was missing. So he grabbed at the cricket bat he’d kept by the bed for the past month and hefted it in warning. The intruder didn’t stop, so Aziraphale swung it.

 

 _Whack!_ The bat made contact.

 

“ _Ow!_ What in Heaven-”

“Crowley?” the bat fell to the floor with a dull _thunk_.

“Yes it’s me, what-” Crowley was then grabbed around the middle as Aziraphale proceeded to kiss him all over; little fleeting kisses that said “I am glad you are back”. Crowley pushed Az off grumpily and reached for the light switch. At the same time that the light flicked on, Aziraphale released his grip on Crowley because this was not _his_ Crowley. Aziraphale’s eyes searched Crowley’s face for any clues, anything to tell him what was going on.

 

Crowley glowered down at him and took a seat on the bed. It was almost like-

 

“Where have you been?” Aziraphale looked down at him with the softest of looks.

“I, uh…,” Crowley was having some trouble remembering.

 

The experiment that the demons performed over the course of a month was a particularly nasty one. It was a “treatment” of sorts that was used on wayward souls to convert them into a low-ranking sort of demon but they’d never tried it on a demon before. This “treatment” removes most of the emotions except hate and cruelty and in so doing, removes any memories that were drenched with those happy feelings, effectively neutering Crowley’s undying love for Aziraphale. They hadn’t got everything, though-- 6,000 years of pining really is hard to get rid of.

 

Crowley had ended up at the right end of things but he was still an unruly demon (because he’s always had a rebellious streak) and that’s why Hell had decided not to let their Golden Boy try out for the team again. This is why Crolwey was back with Aziraphale and this is also why Crowley was having trouble remembering all that much about Aziraphale.

 

“Well, I was in Hell for a while-- is that what you mean? Listen, I was supposed to find you. Why?” Crowley said, hands in his lap.

 

“Wh… How long?”

“What?”

“How long were you in Hell?”

“Uh, I dunno, not long. A month maybe.”

 

Aziraphale froze. Being an angel, he had most of the intel that Heaven had and had some idea of the things Hell could do. There was something in the back of his throat that was making breathing hard and his eyes were filling with tears. Crowley watched in mute confusion, getting ever more confused the worse it got.

 

“Uh, you all right, mate?”

Aziraphale’s bottom lip trembled and he swiped at the tears with a hand.

 

A sniffle. A deep, ragged breath. “Who sent you?”

“What?”

“You said you were supposed to find me. Who sent you?”

“Wull, Hell, I guess. I just took orders from Lord Beezlebub; he said you wouldn’t kill me on sight so I figured it would be all right. They said there was something you needed help with or something but I hope you know what that means because I sure as Heaven don’t.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. I _do_.” Aziraphale said, staring out the dark window and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp  
> ha, uh.   
> don't kill me. 
> 
> I know it's a short one but I'm back to work and writing time has once again been limited. I'll do my best to crank out new chapters for you all because I know you won't be able to wait ;)


	26. Where Have You Been?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might even get another chapter tonight because of how quickly I'm moving (but no promises)  
> Lemme know what you think!!! :)

Aziraphale picked up the two mugs and made his way down to the back room of the bookshop where Crowley was waiting. I say Crowley, but he’s not quite Crowley right now.

 

“So,” he said as he handed one mug to Crowley, “what exactly do you… know about me?” Aziraphale knew he’d need tea to keep himself calm through this part of the process.

 

“Uh, let’s see. You’re an angel-” Aziraphale flinched at the word coming out of the impostor’s mouth. Crowley tried to ignore it and move on. “And you run a bookshop in Soho. And for some odd reason the demons want me following you around like a lost puppy. I know we were friends in the past for the last several thousand years but honestly who remembers all that? So, all in all, not much. Why, is there something I _should_ remember?”

 

Aziraphale was gulping down the scorching tea to try and quell some of the coming tears. Crowley didn’t seem to notice-- or at least pretended not to see.

 

“Did Hell tell you what to do to me?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. Crowley shrugged.

 

“They said to just generally annoy you. They said it wouldn’t be hard. To come to the bookshop and- why am I telling you this? You’re the enemy,” Crowley said, crossing his arms. He still had his sunglasses on, even in the bookshop. Aziraphale’s heart ached.

 

“I believe you are my punishment, dear boy.” Az replied, draining his tea.

“Punishment? Whatdya do, angel?” Crowley replied, a mischievous grin on his face. _Angel. Angel._ The word resounded in Az’s head.

 

“Uhm, just some things. Not angelic things.” Aziraphale looked at his hands because he couldn’t bear to look at Crowley.

 

“Come onnnnn, angel. Give us the _dirty details_.” Crowley prodded. Aziraphale shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

 

“I fell in love, all right? Now just-- leave it alone!” Az snapped, unable to meet Crowley’s eyes. Crowley beamed.

 

“Well, well-- the ultimate sin against Heaven,” the demon said, crossing one lanky leg over the other. Aziraphale blushed and looked down in shame.

 

“Who was the poor bastard?” Crowley said, looking up at Az. He didn’t reply. “That bad?” he said, dipping his head to try and catch Aziraphale’s eye. Az looked up for just a millisecond and regretted it anyway.

 

“Ohhhhh,” Crowley crooned with understanding, “another non-human? You _didn’t,_ you bad bad angel.”

Aziraphale muttered something about needing the loo and rushed off up the stairs to lock the bathroom door behind him. When he turned around, tears were running down his cheeks and his lip was trembling again. He sank down to the tiled floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wouldn’t be able to hide there long, knowing Crowley, but he only needed a few minutes. Crowley was back, right in front of him, but--

 

Az’s mouth fell open. This is how he’d felt. This is how Crowley-- _Crowley_ Crowley-- had felt when Francis showed up. How-- how had he _survived_? How had he sat there, watching the love of his life forget him right to his face? How could he, Aziraphale, make it? He shut his mouth in determination. If Crowley had done it, so could he. He had to. For now, this Crowley was better than no Crowley.

 

 

Aziraphale got off the floor and straightened himself up but didn’t bother miracling the redness away from his eyes. He just figured it wasn’t worth it, that he’d probably cry in front of this Crowley at some point. When Az returned, Crowley was investigating his nails, which were painted black.

 

“Everything all right, angel? I didn’t push you too far, did I?” he jumped up to rectify his statement, “-not that I care, really, it’s just that Hell wanted this to be done slowly and I didn’t want to make you fall apart first day on the job,” Crowley chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets.

 

“No, I’m quite all right,” Aziraphale managed.

 

“All right then. Tell me about the poor girl,” Crowley said, settling back down in his chair and going back to his nails. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he stammered.

 

“D- uh, I- well, I mean, just-- ho- hmm.”

“What?”

“I mean, angels and demons don’t really _have_ gender insofar as-”

“It was a _boy_ celestial?” Crowley smirked with surprise.

Az continued to stammer. “Well, of course not, like I said, gender doesn’t really exist with-”

“Oh, well, now,” Crowley said, kicking his legs up on the arm of the chair. “Not only did you fall in love with another immortal, it was a guy? Oof, Heaven sure couldn’t have been happy. Next thing you’re going to tell me is it was one of _our side,”_ Crowley said sarcastically.

Aziraphale only blushed and looked down again, biting his lip.

 

Crowley’s mouth fell open. “No. No no no no no. No _way!_ A _demon_?? Isn’t that against your very being as an angel?!” Crowley squealed in delight. Aziraphale softened a little.

 

“Not really. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with him,” Az smoothed his velvety waistcoat while lost in thought.

 

“Did he love you back though?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale paused, remembering Crowley kissing him all over and calling him “his angel” and holding him tightly in the night, wings wrapped around both of them in a soft down of feathers.

 

“He did.”

 

 

X

 

 

“So, do I know this chap?” Crowley said, staring at Aziraphale now. Az paused, contemplating what answer to give. “Ah, I did, didn’t I?” Crowley said, watching Az’s expression shift.

 

“You were very close, once upon a time,” he said simply. He had had to go refresh his tea (and get the tears out of his eyes) so he took a sip of the scolding liquid.

 

“Hmm. Did I like him?” Crowley said. Aziraphale gave a small, sad smile.

“You two were very close.”

“And giving me his name would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?” Aziraphale exhaled through his nose and nodded.

 

“All right, all right, well-- what happened?”

“As far as what?”

“Where is he now?”

Aziraphale stared. Crowley made a ooh-did-I-go-too-far face and whispered somewhat sympathetically, “Did they kill him?” Az took another sip of tea.

“In a way. But I think I may be able to get him back,” Aziraphale said, looking at Crowley thoughtfully. The demon didn’t take the hint at all and nodded in apprehension.

 

“Well, I’ll help you,” Crowley said, shrugging. Aziraphale frowned.   
“What?”

“I’m meant to be torturing you, but we can do that on the go. Besides, you’re such a mess, I doubt they’d notice if I didn’t,” Crowley said. Good old Crowley.

 

“Uh… well. What were you doing down in Hell?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley looked confused. “You may have seen him down there, after all,” Az added in explanation. Crowley nodded.

 

“Right, right. Well, I was-” he stopped himself and his eyes went a little glassy. “Of course, I was… I mean, I was…. You know, I can’t remember?” Crowley scratched at the snake tattoo by his ear. “Guess it’s been a long decade. I ought to have been doing something fun,” he said.

 

“Well… no matter,” Aziraphale said, lying. He looked around the room for the next topic of conversation (anything to get away from the last topic) and spotted Crowley’s discarded copy of _Dracula_. Az suddenly felt very sick. He was glad he hadn’t eaten much the past month. “I really must be opening the bookshop,” Aziraphale said, getting up from his chair unsteadily.

 

“Humans buy books at 4 am?” Crowley said, his sunglasses reflecting the dim light. Aziraphale slumped a little.

 

“Oh,” he said. Aziraphale was suddenly very tired again, but he was afraid if he went back to sleep, Crowley may disappear again as easily as he’d appeared. Taking another sip of tea, Aziraphale did his best to relax into his chair with a book while Crowley reclined back and watched him read.


	27. Why Don't I Remember This?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I super enjoyed the last chapter, how about y'all??????

Every once in a while, Aziraphale would peek over the top of his book to make sure Crowley was still sitting there. The first few times he did this, Crowley would smirk or wave (and once even say “See something you like, angel?” which made Aziraphale blush and promptly return to his page) but eventually he stopped looking up and he found his peace of mind in his novel. Crowley started making a soft sort of noise so Az looked up in interest.

 

Was- _that bugger was asleep!_ Crowley had kicked his legs up on the arm of the chair a while ago and laid his head back, tucked tightly against his face and Aziraphale had thought he was just staring dead at him. But he’d been asleep and now he was _snoring._ It wasn’t freight train snoring or anything like that; it was light, soft snoring and Crowley’s mouth was hanging open. He was even drooling a tiny bit.

 

Aziraphale got up after 10 minutes of watching him (and making sure he was really asleep) and ever so carefully pulled off the demon’s sunglasses. Crowley, at that moment, could have gone into the dictionary next to the word peaceful; he was asleep, alright. Az set the sunglasses on the side table next to Crowley and scurried off to refill his mug.

 

 

X

 

 

 

_Screaming. Someone was screaming. The screaming stopped._

 

“ _Not giving in, is he?” Beelzebub said, standing above Crowley with a cat o’nine tails and crossing his arms._

_  
“I’m surprised. Crowley always struck me as the type to give in before you’d even started on the fingernails or teeth,” Hastur replied, his normal slimy garb dappled with blood spatter. Not his blood, though. Crowley’s blood. It was Crowley who had been screaming. Crowley who had been subjected to the cat o’nine tails. Crowley who had been tortured for something near to a month._

 

“ _Let me try, lord, please. I know it will work. I can make him_ forget. _I can make him ours again,” Hastur pleaded, watching Beelzebub hopefully. Beelzebub nodded slowly._

 

“ _All right, Hastur. But if you fail, Hell will not protect you from Crowley’s wrath,” Beelzebub handed the cat o’nine tails to Hastur and exited the room through a door behind Hastur._

 

“ _Don’t worry, lord. I won’t,” Hastur replied to the already absent prince of Hell, looking towards Crowley with a cruel smile on his pallid face._

 

X

 

 

When Aziraphale returned, Crowley was tossing and turning in the small chair, about to roll out of it. He was also mumbling things and whatever he was saying, he sounded distressed. Aziraphale quickly put down the mug of tea and went over to his chair. “Crowley?” he said, touching the demon’s shoulder worriedly.

 

Crowley lashed out in his sleep and knocked Aziraphale away so that he fell back and hit his face on the small side table by his chair. Az tasted blood and could feel his lip had split open, warmth seeping down his chin. He looked back up at the chair Crowley was writhing in and with a cry, Crowley fell onto the floor beside Azira. He looked up at him with startled yellow eyes and blinked. He was about to try and form words but he noticed the blood on Aziraphale’s lip.

 

He reached up with a thumb and brushed it against Az’s lip, wiping away the blood. “I don’t know why I did that,” he said, pulling his hand back and looking down at the red stain on the pad of his thumb. Aziraphale just stared. His lip was tingling between the pain of splitting it open and the shock of Crowley touching him that way.

 

“What were you dreaming about?” Aziraphale said, leaning back against the bottom of his armchair, choosing the floor over having to get up and deal with legs again. He was still a little disoriented from the shot to the face he’d just taken.

 

“Hmm?” Az’s comment had pulled Crowley out of some kind of trance.

 

“You were having a bad dream. You were tossing and turning and shouting and everything in your sleep,” Aziraphale said, gazing at the demon. Crowley blinked rapidly a few times as he tried to recall and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. He squinted at the floor and frowned.   


“It’s funny, I dreamed I was being tortured,” Crowley said, apparently unruffled.

“Y- you… what?”

“I dreamed my manager Beelzebub and a coworker called Hastur were torturing me. Hastur was going to try something new or something, something he promised Beelzebub would work. Never you mind, I always have super weird dreams whenever I try sleeping. Why?” As Crowley finished his account, he looked up and stopped. Aziraphale had a horrified expression on his face like he’d just seen Satan himself. His eyes were wide as dinner plates and his eyes were a little too shiny.

 

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing.” Aziraphale was amazed he’d managed to keep his voice so steady.

“No, you know something, what is it?”

“Crowley… I do think that really happened.” Crowley searched the carpet with his eyes as though all the answers were laid out right there.

“You never explained how you knew my name,” Crowley replied, eyes narrowing. When the angel didn’t respond, he continued. “When you hit me with that cricket bat, I said things but never introduced myself and yet you _knew_ my name. Who are you?” Crowley looked up at Az and then cried out in pain. His head very suddenly felt like it was about to explode. Crowley tried to ask Aziraphale how he was doing this or make him _stop_ but then everything went black.

 

 

X

 

 

When Crowley could make his eyes work again, the first thing he saw was Aziraphale’s face. Az had sat cross-legged by his side and pulled him into his lap, idly stroking at his hair. Crowley jumped up and scooted away, giving no heed to the wayward angel. Aziraphale hardly looked disturbed.

 

“Listen, I know you’re an angel and all but-” Crowley started in anger but his voice cut off like a light. Something… he… was almost having a feeling, but he wasn’t sure exactly what that feeling was. Whatever it was, he was feeling it so intensely that he could only stare in fascination at Aziraphale. There was something tugging at the edge of his mind but he just couldn’t grab hold of it. “What happened?”

 

“Whatever they did to you must have been fighting back against you remembering,” Aziraphale said sadly. Crowley shook his head like he had water in his ears.

 

“What?! What who did to me?”

Aziraphale got to his feet and popped out the special compartment by the mantle the way Crowley had showed him. He pulled out the three scrapbooks and threw them down in front of the demon. Crowley glanced between Aziraphale and the books as the angel retook his seat on the floor. Crowley waited for an explanation and when he didn’t get one, he flipped open the top book to a random page. It was the third of the set, a dark crimson color, and also the most recent, so the page he opened to was full of photographs.

 

It was them. Crowley and Aziraphale. Laughing, eating, acting silly; Crowley flipped through the pictures in dismay, memories he didn’t have. Years, decades, centuries- so many things he didn’t remember.

 

“Why don’t I remember this?” Crowley said, looking up at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was looking down at the pages too and he ever so slowly flicked his eyes up to meet Crowley’s.

 

“Because an angel had the audacity to love a demon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if I can promise you another chapter or not but let's hope so because all is going well :)


	28. Hello Angel

“What does that even _mean?”_

“You, you brick. You were the one I fell in love with,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward. Crowley’s lips parted slightly and he looked dazed.

 

“What? No, but you said-” realization dawned on Crowley’s face. Az nodded as he watched the cogs turn in Crowley’s head.

 

“Well, I mean- that _can’t_ be, I- I’m- I’m a bloody _demon_.” Crowley thought this statement should explain everything but it didn’t.

 

“And I’m an angel, darling; that didn’t seem to matter over the years.”

“But-- but… it _shouldn’t_ be possible.”   
“Fantastic, here come 6,000 years worth of excuses for yourself. At least I spread mine out,” Aziraphale said, sitting back against the chair. Crowley flipped through the other books, examining their timeline.

 

“What happened, then? What _really_ happened? You said-- you said I was tortured?”

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped. “From what I can tell. Everything about the dream seemed to line up with what I experienced. I-” He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes for the 38th time today.

 

“But this doesn’t make any sense, why would Heaven--” He stopped when he saw Aziraphale’s expression. Az was still bleary eyed, biting his lip and trying not to really cry now. He pulled his knees up to his chest and piled his arms on top so he could bury his face in them.

 

_Stupid angel, crying in front of a stupid demon, stupid stupid stu-_

 

Aziraphale felt a hand gently patting his shoulder; not really the reassuring pat of one trying to help. More the sort of pat given by someone who really doesn’t know what else to do.

 

“There, there,” Crowley said awkwardly. Aziraphale didn’t dare reach out to him like he so desperately wanted to do, because after all, Crowley was still a demon and he didn’t know if he could handle more than the weird patting in this form.

 

“Angel...I think…. I think I can almost… remember something,” Crowley said slowly as Aziraphale looked up. Az glanced at the hand still resting on his shoulder and then back at Crowley’s contemplative face. Dare he hope- It couldn’t be…

 

“It can’t be that easy,” he said looking up in wonder. Aziraphale wiped away the tears and pulled himself forward onto his hands and knees so he could position himself closer to Crowley. Crowley looked confused but not entirely against the idea, so he continued.

 

“I just need to-” Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands and kissed him. Crowley’s eyes widened before he sank into the kiss and it all came back in a rush. Mesopotamia. Greece. London, France, all of it-- all 6,000 years he’d spent loving his angel.

 

You’re probably wondering how this could be. If you’re thinking true love’s kiss, stop that. Angels have a naturally healing aura around their form, be it physical or otherwise. This aura mainly heals emotional and mental wounds like abuse trauma or mental illness; something else you need to know is that the aura is strongest around the head. Aziraphale knew all this. Crowley did _not_.

 

When Aziraphale pulled back, wide eyes still shining, Crowley smiled wide and said:

 

“Hello, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I AM a lonely virgin and yes I DID use the true love trope, FIGHT ME 
> 
> I have no idea when the next chapter is gonna come out because I don't know how I want to close this (I just know this aint it, chief) 
> 
> please PLEASE give me one-shot and fluff requests because I WILL do them, even if you pull the prompt from a list somewhere or something. PLEASE THEY'RE FUN AND I LOVE THESE BABES SO MUCH


	29. I Have a Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f l u f f  
> before the finale! 
> 
> :)

 

At the sound of Az’s pet name, he melted into Crowley’s arms and Crowley held him the same way Az had held him. “How could I ever have forgotten _you?”_ Crowley said, resting his chin on the top of Azira’s blonde head.

 

“You didn’t forget, you were taken from me,” Aziraphale sobbed happily into Crowley’s chest. “But now you’re back.” he said, pulling away with a sniffle to look into Crowley’s yellow eyes.

 

“What was that? When we kissed, I-- felt something.”

“Well, either you were _really_ happy to see me,” Aziraphale said slyly, earning a cocked head from Crowley, who couldn’t _believe_ his angel had just said that, “or it was true love’s kiss.” He gave Crowley another quick smooch to punctuate this point.

 

“As lovely as that idea is, angel, I don’t-”

Az didn’t let him finish, catching his mouth again to silence him.

“Trust me on this,” he murmured so sweetly that Crowley forgot what he’d been saying. Crowley looked up at his angel so transfixed that he looked half-asleep.

 

“You were saying?” Aziraphale laughed against him.

“Huh?” Crowley shook his head.

Az chuckled again, running his hands down Crowley’s chest.

“Right. Uh, we should… figure out how to stop this,” Crowley nodded with assurance.

“Stop what, darling?”

“Stop them from tearing us apart at every turn. We can’t live like this,” Crowley said, fire flashing in his eyes.

 

“You tell me what you want to do,” Aziraphale breathed against his neck, so grateful to have his devil back he could only think about one thing.

“We’ll figure it out later,” Crowley replied, giving in to the temptation and carrying his angel upstairs.

 

 

X

 

After the two had explored each others bodies for what seemed like the first time (it always felt like the first time, but they’d only had sex a handful of times), they laid in the twisted sheets, half uncovered to cool off.

 

“Angel,” Crowley panted. Az didn’t realize it was a question until he felt the demon’s eyes on him.

“Yes, dear boy?” Aziraphale said drowsily back.

“I have a request.” Az’s eyes shot open and he looked over in question. Was he asking-

“Not _that_ kind of request, we just _did_ that,” Crowley said at Az’s implying glance. “No, I… I want to ask something else of you.” Aziraphale felt this were serious and sat up on his elbows.

 

“Whatever is it?” Crowley looked bashful and he blushed as he inspected his thumbnail.

“May I...”

“Yes?”  
“May I groom your wings?” Aziraphale would’ve laughed if Crowley hadn’t looked so earnest. Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley smiled shyly and said, “Okay, roll over.”

Aziraphale looked taken aback. “What, now?”

“Yes, _now._ Pleasssssssse.” Crowley hissed, pulling himself up already. Aziraphale turned onto his stomach and set his chin on his stacked forearms, waiting for Crowley. The demon climbed up on top of Aziraphale, straddling his waist. They were both still a bit… _sensitive_ in parts, but otherwise, they managed.

 

“I’ve been waiting to do thisssssssss for ssssoo long.” Crowley hissed excitedly. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and manifested his wings for Crowley. The pristine, angelic white was offset by bent and broken feathers and even _dirt_. Crowley clucked apprehensively and said. “Oh, angel… you’re going to pay for thisssssssss.”

 

Crowley started in on the shoulder joints of Az’s wings, massaging the soft muscles. “What are you doing?” Aziraphale twisted a little, trying to look over his shoulder and Crowley steadied him.

 

“If I don’t loosen up your wing joints, you’ll twitch yourself into a cramp when I start plucking,” Crowley said, enjoying the downy feathers beneath his hands.

 

“Plucking?!” hooted Az in alarm, twisting around again.

“Ssssssssssssshhh, love. Be still.” Crowley said quietly. “Some of these feathers can’t be saved. We’ve got to pull them out so new ones will grow.” He yanked at one such feather and Aziraphale jumped beneath him.

 

“Ow, Crowley-”

“Sssssssssssh.”

“But _Crowley-”_

“ _Ssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”_

 

 

Aziraphale’s shoulders tightened as he waited for more pain, but Crowley’s mouth was what he felt next, right at the nape of his neck. “Relaxxxxx.” Az tried to do as he was told, but it wasn’t exactly easy when he couldn’t see what Crowley was doing. Crowley ran his hands over both wings, reveling in the softness of them. Even as dejected as they were, they were still gorgeous.

 

 _Pluck. Pluck. Pluck pluck pluck._ Aziraphale winced and rolled his shoulders. It hurt but it also felt good post-orgasm. If they hadn’t just done it, Az didn’t think he would have agreed to this. But he was such a fool for Crowley. After plucking so many feathers, Crowley would rub his hands (and some wing oil he’d cursed into existence) over the area, soothing the sore spots and making Az forget about the pain. Az’s feathers twitched in pleasure at his touch but soon enough he was plucking again. Every time Aziraphale reached his pain threshold, Crowley’s touch would become soothing before he could complain.

 

Once Crowley had pulled out the problematic feathers and brushed away the dirt, he rubbed his hands down over the wings again for good measure, making sure the good feathers all laid the way they were supposed to.

 

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley whispered against his back as he laid kisses down Az’s spine, all the way to the top of his ass.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Aziraphale said with an evil glint to his eye. Crowley had thought he was getting something for free, but there was definitely going to be an exchange here. Az rolled his hips so Crowley tumbled off him and onto the mattress and before Crowley could regain his position, Az was on top of him, pinning his wrists down and kissing him hard.

 

Crowley laughed against his mouth and they pulled the sheets over them, blocking out the late afternoon sun.


	30. What Are We Going to do With a Bucket of Applesauce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is honestly a super weird ending, PLEASE let me know if you have suggestions to make it end more nicely? Otherwise, this is it kiddos. I have new things coming out with a partner by the tag of @xidaer so keep an eye out!!!!!!!! 
> 
> If you thought this was heart-wrenching, just you wait ;)

 

“I think it’s time we get out of bed.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Aziraphale, it’s been a _week_.”

“And I was without you for a month.”

 

The angel and the demon hadn’t moved from the spare room for six and a half days and Crowley was getting a little bored being pent up like this. Sure, they’d done things that required moving about and _exerting_ oneself but after a while, even though it was Az, Crowley _needed_ to get out of the room.

 

“So we’ve got the plan, right?”

“Yeah, you’re going to get the-”

“Uh, huh, and you?”

“Yes, I’ve already got it.”

“All right, perfect. Don’t let it spoil-- actually, that would make it even better.”

“I can _miracle_ it rotten?”

“Perfect, angel. _Perfect,”_ Crowley purred, eyeing Aziraphale with a hungry look in his eye.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You _know_ why, angel.”

“You’re sure you want to again? You’re not bored of it?” Az said urgently. Crowley looked affronted. He rolled onto his belly and climbed on top of Aziraphale, straddling him.

 

“ _Bored?_ Of _you?”_ Crowley said, staring at him with exaggerated surprise. He leaned down and kissed Az, peppering his jaw, his pulse point, and his neck with kisses. “I could never,” he rumbled, “get _bored_ of _Azzzzzzzziraphale.”_

 

 

X

 

 

Two more days went by before Crowley could fully convince Az to leave the bed (and his arms) and get dressed. “The sooner we do this,” Crowley pulled Az to the edge of the bed with a hand so he could stand up, “- the sooner we can do _that_ forever.”

 

Az nodded in determination. He knew what they were risking; that’s why they’d taken over a week to prepare. They each had a bucket they’d prepared and Aziraphale miracled them into key chains he attached to his shop keys until they would be able to use them. Crowley took the shop keys from him (considering one of the buckets contents were _very_ dangerous for angels) and tucked them into the pocket of his trousers.

 

Then the two of them were off in Crowley’s Bentley going 120 miles an hour (probably because of where Aziraphale’s hand was resting). They got to the building in one piece, though, and 10 minutes later they were standing at the gates to Heaven.

 

“You remember the plan, right?” Crowley’s dark glasses reflected Heaven’s white light back at Az, reminding him just what he was doing.

“Right. Right,” Aziraphale nodded nervously.

“It’s not a hard plan, angel, you sure you’ve got it?”

“I do, I’m just worried.”

“All right, come on, then.

 

The angel and the demon once more slipped past security; they really couldn’t tell at this point if they were being let through on purpose or if Heaven’s security was just _that_ bad. Crowley jingled the keys anxiously in his pocket. Was this really going to work?

 

The two of them continued into Heaven and met who they were looking for almost immediately.

 

“Great, what are you two doing here?” Gabriel sighed snarkily, hands clasped behind his back. Crowley tossed the keys to Az, who miracled the key chains into buckets and gave Crowley his bucket. Aziraphale tossed the contents of his bucket onto the unaware angel but the two of them jumped back in surprise. Gabriel the archangel was swallowed up in a belch of Hellfire and in seconds, he was nothing but ash.

 

“ _Damn it Aziraphale.”_

“How was I supposed to know? You got _identical_ buckets!”

“You could have been destroyed!”

“But I _wasn’t!!”_ Az snapped, looking at his own bucket.

“It was supposed to go applesauce, _then_ Hellfire! What the Heaven are we going to do with a bucket of applesauce?!”

 

 

For readers who are scratching their heads right now, the plan Crowley and Aziraphale had come up with had been devised in bed while they were half asleep. I shall tell it to you so you can fully understand what just happened. The conversation between them was as follows:

 

Crowley: “We should destroy Gabriel.”

Az: “Al’right.”

Crowley: “All right? You’re okay with that?”

Az: “I hate the bugger. He didn’t even give me a trial. What was it he said again?”

Crowley: “‘Shut up and die already’”

Az: “Ah yes. Let’s destroy him.”

Crowley: “I believe after we destroy him, Beelzebub will be too chicken to mess with us.”

Az: “Al’right.”

Crowley: “Okay, wull I can get Hellfire rather easily.”

Az: “Yes but I want to throw something else on him first.”

Crowley: “Like what?”

Az: “Like jam. Or honey. Something _sticky_ and _yucky_ ”

Crowley: “O-okay. All right. We can… we can do that. Just make sure you let me throw the Hellfire so you don’t catch yourself.”

Az: “Of course, dear.”

 

The applesauce was meant to be a private joke in reference to Aziraphale's old assignment in Eden. And there you have it.

 

So there they were, standing in Heaven, in front of the remnants of archangel Gabriel with a bucket of applesauce and a (not so clever) one liner they would never get to use.

 

“Home?” Crowley looked at Az over the tops of his sunglasses.  
“Home.” Aziraphale agreed.

 


End file.
